


Solitude

by Elenluin



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 18:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 34,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5016034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenluin/pseuds/Elenluin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As war is near, darkness is unavoidable. In solitude, one can find peace, but sometimes it is friendship we need. <br/>Elenluin and Gil-Galad struggle in the middle of the second age (II 1700-1702) with the consequences of the fall of Eregion and the events that lead to the foundation of Imladris as a second stronghold in Gil-Galad's realm. The story is mainly focused on character development of Gil-Galad (as of chapter 2) and Elrond (as of chapter 10 approx), through their reactions on the pain and experiences of Elenluin.<br/>Warning : Story rated T for auto-mutilation (first chapter rather graphic - less later), references to torture and general angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ered Luin

As he slowly slid the razor sharp knife over his arm, he wondered. Why was he doing this?

All alone in his tent, no one around. He could hear the sound of his men softly speaking, laughing, and singing at the fire close by. He had not joined them, he never did. They knew by now, that their commander preferred to be alone in the evening.

At least tonight they had been able to light a fire and put up the tents. It had been a hard patrol, but they had made it back over the mountains, and much information they had taken with them, to bring back to the High king.

He breathed out, slowly, realizing he had held his breath during the seconds that the knife touched his skin. Pain went away, as the blood welled up from the clean cut. Another one.

The pain went away and he regretted it. The sharpness turned into a dull throbbing. Another wound. Another place. Everything hurt. His back, his arms. The back inflicted by others, his arms, only himself to blame.

He turned his gaze to his lower right arm, flexing his hand so the skin rippled and inwardly cringed at the sight. He was careful to clean his daggers before he even touched his skin. He knew better than to cause wounds that he could not treat himself. But he did not exactly care for the cuts properly either.  Swollen skin, ragged yellowish edges, more infected cuts, neatly arranged each next to another. It was wrong, wrong, wrong. And he knew it. Still he did not stop.

 Why was he doing this?

He wanted to be alone, and still not. He wished for someone to notice, but hid any sign of weakness from all around him. He was in pain, and it was not the physical pain that was torturing him most.

Slowly he took a clean leather strip, and started to wrap it around his lower arm. One turn, second one, one more, neat, parallel bands of leather, protecting his arms. That was what most believed, that he still held to the old custom of wrapping his arms for protection instead of using pre-shaped guards.

He alone knew it absorbed the blood and pus better. He alone knew it would hurt more when he removed them.

Why was he doing this?

Soft footsteps fell close to his tent. As the tent flap was opened, the one that entered only saw that his commander slowly finished covering his arm.

“Yes? What is wrong?”

“It is Teliglan my lord, he seems not well.”

Elenluin turned around, his dark eyes hiding whatever had occurred only minutes ago.

“Bring me to him, Inglorion, and tell me, what happened?”

 

They walked together through their small camp, the tall black haired elf and his second in command. Light and shadow, their men called them sometimes affectionately.

Gildor, always laughing, his clear grey eyes shining with mirth and hope even in the darkest days, the light of the trees radiating from his face.

Elenluin, always pensive and serious, never showing what was hidden behind the shadows that shrouded his dark eyes.

Elenluin, always thinking ahead, determining the plan of attack, fierce in battle, saving them from numerous hopeless situations by boldly leading forward, inspiring them, holding the light in front of them.

Gildor, kind hearted, a brother to them all, executing his leader’s plans, and even though he was older than the other elf, always his loyal follower, his shadow.

Light and shadow, indeed.

As they moved in silence, Gildor wondered what was wrong.

Throughout years of war together, they had never needed a lot of words to understand each other but he worried, for there was some change in his superior. He had thought himself to be a trusted friend during the war of wrath to this silent elf, but many years had passed since then and he doubted if even ‘friendship’ ever had been the right word. The blue star did not allow anyone that close. He had first realised it when the other quite unexpectedly had left for Eregion. How little he knew about this man. He did not know what had passed there in the realm of the smiths. He had heard rumours as they all had, but no one knew the truth and those that had been there were not inclined to talk about it. The only visible reminder seemed to be some scars on his leader’s upper arms and neck. He never had asked about them and as Elenluin always had guarded his feelings, he was almost sure no one truly knew what Elenluin really thought, except perhaps the High King.

Still, he cared, he cared for this brooding, strong man that stood beside him now at the entrance of the common sleeping tent. It was why he had requested to be part of his group again when the smith had returned to Lindon and started leading some of the more dangerous patrols for Gil-Galad, now more than two years ago. He would follow him through fire and ice, as he had before. Still he would swear something was wrong with Elenluin. He could not put his finger on what it was though, it did not seem to be mere grief for what he had lost. He brushed away the thought, no reason to think of such darkness and probably he was wrong.

 

Elenluin stepped in the tent, with one look observing the situation. Teliglan was huddled on his sleeping mat. Close to him another soldier was kneeling, trying to hush the uncontrolled sobs that came from the younger elf. He did not have to tell Gildor what to do, his lieutenant took the well-meaning friend out of the tent, leaving his commander alone with the desperately crying Teliglan.

The young one looked up at the motion around him and almost whimpered when he saw his commander sitting next to him, instead of soft-eyed Inglorion whom he had asked his friends to fetch. Elenluin did not move. He just quietly was there, close by, waiting, until Teliglan would calm down. He knew he would. Eventually, they all did. The sobs diminished after some time, how long, he could not tell, he had time.

Teliglan lifted his head, hollow, red-rimmed eyes looked up to Elenluin, and the smith wondered, how had he missed this before today? He chastised himself for not noticing the state of this young one that was on his first fighting patrol.

“I- I’m sorry sir, I do not know… I, thought I, maybe..”

Elenluin only answered “Don’t worry, just tell me when you are ready, or tell me you would like to be alone and I will leave, Inglorion will be back soon if you’d rather talk to him.”

The boy – for he really was little more than a boy in Elenluin’s eyes – collected himself and shook his head, he started hesitatingly “Sir, I know it is silly, but I, I keep on thinking of those orcs I killed, I keep on seeing it before me, I should have…”

“Teliglan,” Elenluin spoke very quietly with a sad look in his eyes “I know. We all have these feelings sometimes, I know how hard it is my boy.”

The tearful face that stared at him showed surprise. He obviously had expected some simple comforting words, not the acknowledgement of his commander that he too had felt this way.

“It would concern me more if you did not feel anything when killing. Do not run from the feelings Teliglan, think of them and remember them, for they too are living creatures. But, while I do not want you to be unmoved by what you do, try to keep in mind that there are others that you have to protect, and will protect. We do what we can, we fight, we kill and sometimes, we get hurt and the hurt is not always caused by others…”

Inglorion re-entered the tent, having left his charge behind with his friends. He looked at the two in front of him and saw that the young one was calm now, and thinking hard on something he had just heard. Elenluin quietly rose, and with a small gesture of his hand invited him to come over. As he approached, he saw the commander softly pat the boy’s shoulder, before he walked past him, and left.

Teliglan would be fine, he had friends around him that would help him through.

As Elenluin left the tent, the young one looked up to Inglorion and softly said “Do you know why he came to me personally? I did not expect him to be so….”

“Understanding?” a brief smile flickered on Inglorion’s face, “Elenluin might be harsh at first sight my boy, but if there’s anything I have learned in the long years I have worked for him, it is that he does care a lot about you all. And even if he never spoke to you before, rest assured he knows you.” And as he spoke those words, somehow a thought started nagging him. Who cared for their commander while he cared for them?

Elenluin walked through camp, away, alone. And he doubted on where to go. It would be foolish to start wandering under the stars though, in this place, at this time, so with a sigh, he went back to his tent.

Why? Why did even the responsibility for others not make him feel better anymore? It used to be different. When he would take care of another that needed his help, at least he would feel alive. These days the only time he felt as if he lived was when he ached.

He slowly started unwrapping the leather of his left arm and choked back a hiss of pain as he pulled the straps loose from the wounds that were hidden below. Here he was alone, here he could allow himself to feel to some extent, but the walls of the tent were thin, and he did not want anyone to hear him cry. So he didn’t.

Why did he do this?

The question resurfaced, as it had every evening, every day. Why did he find comfort in this? Why even during the day, looking forward to the sharp pain in the evening would bring his tumbling mind peace? More than anything else?

Looking at his arm, he realised he could not go on like this. When he was back in Lindon, he knew he had to talk to someone, before it went too far. If it was not too late. Cleaning the wounds with a wet cloth, he removed the yellow festering crusts on top of the cuts.

But after that, even though he had been thinking of how to stop just seconds before, he found the knife in his hand again.

Carefully, deliberately, he moved the knife over his arm. Pain rose and went away, as the blood welled up from the clean cut. Another one.

This time he did not stop, he pushed harder, deeper. Blood was flowing now, tears were falling from his eyes without a sound. What did he want? Why was he doing this? Was it really only pain he sought? Or did he want to run away from everything? Sink into oblivion, not know anymore, no more nightmares, no more memories?

With a sudden move, disgusted by himself he threw the knife to his bed.

The pain went away again, and he regretted it. The sharpness turned into a dull throbbing. Another wound. Another one.

He would talk to Ereinion when he was back in Lindon.


	2. Lindon

Gil-Galad was sitting in his throne room as Elenluin entered, his hair and clothes still covered with dust from the long road.

“Aranya” he bowed in front of the king, as custom and politeness required. But before his knee could touch the ground, a hand took his and raised him again into a warm embrace.

“I’m glad you’re home brother” he heard the whisper in his ear.

He weakly nodded, not knowing how to start. “Do you have any plans tonight Ereinion?”

In earlier times, the High King would have carelessly answered that yes, he had some banquet of another, for the long-awaited Numenorean men had finally arrived. But recently he had learned, the hard way, on how few times his brother actually asked him something, so he did not.

“I might have, but not anymore, do you want to come to my quarters little one?”

Elenluin smirked and playfully gave a punch to the shoulder of his king, “Don’t call me that, old man, but yes, I would very much like to talk to you tonight, if it is not too much of a disturbance of your obligations.”

Gil-Galad shook his head, he saw well enough how the would-be smile that his foster brother gave him did not reach his eyes, and wondered, what it was he had to tell him. “Nothing important, refresh yourself Elenluin, I’m done here and will do the same, I’ll ask them to bring us dinner in my private dining rooms. Anything particular you would like?”

“No, no, don’t do anything special for me, I’ll just pass by for dinner then.”

 

As he walked to his own rooms, Elenluin saw Gwillion approaching from the other side, obviously warned by one or another servant that he was back.

“Sir, I’m glad to see you back! I have already let your packs be brought to your room, and…”

“Thank you Gwillion,” Elenluin interrupted him quietly but decidedly “I would only like you to help me apply the balm to my back. The rest of the evening I will spend with the King.”

Gwillion nodded, his face slightly flushed, knowing by now that his master did not appreciate too much talking. As they entered the rooms, it seemed that the servant had understood his master’s needs better than the latter would have thought, for a tub with warm water was waiting to clean the dust away. After helping him out of his mail, Gwillion left him to himself, and as he unwrapped again the leather straps that covered his arms, he knew why he was seeing his brother later that evening.

One by one, the straps undone, one by one, the scars uncovered. As he lowered himself in the warm water, he felt the stinging of his arms. He closed his eyes, shutting out the world for a while, focusing only on the sensation of prickling skin. As he opened them again, he rose, stepped out and took one of the towels.

Gwillion reentered with the jar with the balm for his back, ready to help. As he sat himself on a wooden bench, the servant started applying the salve. He kept his arms turned down, hidden under the towel, did not think Gwillion saw the state of them, and if he did, he knew that he would keep comments to himself. If there was any person in this world he trusted to keep a secret, it was him.

 

Sometime after, he walked over to his brother’s rooms, dressed only in a long-sleeved tunic and light trousers. As he approached the wing of the King, he met more and more guards and he realised he almost knew them all by name, having had many of them in either his swordsmanship training sessions a long time ago, or in one of his patrols. The king insisted to have men in his guard that had seen real battle, not just the younger sons of the more important families and he seemed to pick them out of his brother’s contingents.

He was glad at least that Ereinion had stopped objecting to having them in the palace, he felt more at ease when his king was safe. He saw as well here and there the banners of Numenor, he had heard that men had finally come, and was curious on what help they could bring – for the situation was becoming desperate, with the enemy pressing closer and closer to Lindon and Imladris.

As he approached the heavy wooden doors that closed the King’s quarters from the rest of the palace, it seemed that he was expected and they let him in without a question.

Gil Galad saw him enter, dressed in a loose flowing dark blue tunic, dark hair framing an all too white face.  He thought that he had grown thinner again, that the tunic had not been so loose, last time he saw him wear it. At the same time he knew he could not stop him from going on patrol, even if it was wearing him out.  They quietly had a simple meal, speaking only of the harvest and the weather, as the servants swirled around them with plates and drinks.  Soon enough they were done and Ereinion knew they had both not eaten much, other things occupying their minds. So they took their glasses and the carafe of wine and withdrew to his small sitting room leaving all servants and guards behind, finally getting some privacy.

Pouring in another glass, Gil-Galad looked pensively at his brother. Doubting between asking what the matter was and quietly waiting until the other would start talking.

As Elenluin saw a book on the coffee table, he picked it up and started flipping through. Maps of the east were visible, but his eyes did not see. His heart was racing, how could he talk about this, how could he start, he did not think it such a good idea anymore, he should just shut up and go to his rooms.


	3. On Loneliness

Gil-Galad lowered his gaze to the book his brother was holding and gasped. During dinner, the cut of the tunic had kept the tight sleeves well around his brother’s wrists, but now, they had fallen back a bit, and what he saw frightened him.

Hearing his brother’s sharp intake of breath, Elenluin tensed. And realised what the other had seen. He resisted the urge to pull down the sleeves, hide once more. Instead he unbuttoned them, pulled them higher up to his elbows, uncovering the full extent of his pain.

Within seconds Ereinion was next to him, his fingers carefully tracing the scars and wounds, softly touching here and there.

He stared at his feet, did not know how to talk about such a thing.

Words were not needed, an arm around his shoulder, holding him oh so tight told him that the other knew what had happened. He started shaking and inwardly he cursed, why could he not control himself here?

Ereinion felt the tension as he held his brother, knew he was fighting his inner demons with all his might and softly whispered “shh, Elenluin, let it go, I am here, I am here, shhh­­…” holding him in his arms was all he could do for now.

But Elenluin could not tolerate the touch anymore, stood up, and walked away to the one window – his fists clenched. He did not look at Ereinion, did not dare.

“I don’t know why, I don’t know how. I don’t even know why I decided to tell you.”

“Because you promised. You promised to tell me if anything was wrong little one, and I promised to listen, without commenting, without judgment.”

“I promised…” Elenluin turned around, flames leaping in his eyes “but tell me brother, how will it help, what will change? I can never go back to what I was! I cannot stop this, I cannot!” the full force of his words sank in, his legs unable to carry him any longer, he sank to the floor. Trembling, trembling, why could he not stop it? He hugged his knees, held them, tried to get some grip on himself, could not and a sob escaped his lips. “why I ask myself so often, why do I do this?”

Looking up to Ereinion who was now silently kneeling in front of him on the floor, waiting, he continued. “I am so lonely brother…”

Gil-Galad let himself down next to him, resting his head against the wall, looking to the ceiling. In a quiet voice he started speaking “That is a feeling I know all too well, little one…”

Elenluin managed to slightly compose himself, and looked to the one sitting next to him through the mist of his tears. “Still Ereinion? After all those years?”

“I will never get used to it, not if I would be King for eighteen hundred years more. The responsibility, the decisions, the fact that almost all around you only want to be near you because they need you.” His dreamy eyes stared in the distance, “I find there are very few I can rely on to give an honest opinion these days. Cirdan, Elrond, Celeborn maybe. And you.” He looked Elenluin in the eyes. “It is a thin line between risking one’s heart to be hurt by trusting others and holding back everything to one self until you end up desperately lonely.”

“I know..” all energy had drained from Elenluin at that point. “You think I should try and trust more around me don’t you.”

“I do my brother, I do believe it is worth the risk of heartache, there are many who care for you, would you only allow yourself to see. “

“They care for you more Ereinion. Or did you not see how Lady Valanthiriel was looking at you at the banquet last month?” he tried to change subject, and knew that it was an all too transparent attempt.

Gil-Galad laughed mirthlessly on the remark “you know I will not marry her, Elenluin. There is no woman that deserves to live the life I lead.”

Elenluin didn’t answer, he understood. When they were young, there had been a time that the King had had quite a reputation with the ladies, but he never stayed long. He would break up as soon as things got too serious, leaving them behind devastated. They would not understand, but Elenluin did. Thinking of his father and grandfather before him, Ereinion did not expect an easy life, in fact, he did not even expect to live a long time. He knew what it was to lead, and he did not want to draw any other into the harsh tasks that lay before him.  It had always been so, even when living still in Cirdan’s care he had always put duty above everything else.

“As for you, my little one, stay close for a while, stay at court. I will wait for your briefing tomorrow, but I do not doubt we have now all the information we need. Ciryatur, the admiral of Tar-Minastir is here, and we should start planning.  I need your insights and experience here more than in the field now, and I would like you to rest a bit and stay with me as well. Let Inglorion stay too, try to talk to him maybe.  He is one of the people that I think cares my brother. Did you know he came to me when we came back from Eregion? Almost begging to be allowed to serve with you again?”

“I did not” Elenluin bowed his head. “I thought he must have been fed up with me by now, I know I am not the easiest person in the field.”

“Still you are well-loved, my brother. I heard many of the younger captains speak of you with great reverence, hoping that one day they would be able to serve in your troops. It surprises you doesn’t it?” Looking at the incredulous expression on Elenluin’s face, he knew he had hit his target.  “Oh and do not think it is because they know you are close to me, for if that was the case, they would without any doubt try to get into Elrond’s favour.”

Elenluin’s mind was tumbling back and forth. He had heard things he needed to think about this night. “I am tired Ereinion, and have the feeling that maybe, for once I will be able to sleep tonight.”

Gil-Galad did not press any further as he got himself up, he saw the exhausted expression on his brother’s face and wordlessly held out his hand, pulling the other up.

“Do you want me to stay with you? Would it help?”

Elenluin shook his head, “no, you get your rest as well, if I know you, you have planned your council early tomorrow morning at dawn as always. I will be there.”

The King smiled, “habits are hard to break”

Elenluin hugged his brother before he walked out and as he opened the door, he turned around, “Thank you.” was all he said, but the emotions behind those two simple words were clear enough to the one that had known him since childhood.

 

 

 


	4. At Council

He slept, exhausted, without dreams. A rarity it was nowadays to get a night of plain sleep, and when he woke up in the early hours of the morning he felt better. His head was clearer, he knew he was ready for a day full of meetings and discussion, they would need to start planning indeed.

As he got up and washed, he looked into the one small mirror that his room contained. And when he saw his image for the first time in months, he knew why his brother had so easily given up his earlier plans yesterday evening – he must have skipped some feast or another despite his reassurances.  The High King seldom had the freedom to choose how to spend his nights.

He sighed. Dark circles around his eyes, his face all too sharp. He must have lost weight again, he felt it when putting his clothes on. Ereinion was probably right, he needed some rest and time to recover. He needed to make sure he was strong enough for the times that were coming.  As Gwillion entered his quarters with breakfast, he forced himself to at least eat something, even if he did not feel hungry at all.

Walking to the council chamber, he felt sick, his stomach did not agree with his mind, not used anymore to too much food after harsh months of one meal a day on campaign. As he opened the doors, he saw known faces around the table. Cirdan beckoned him to sit next to him as he entered, while the others greeted him with more warmth than he ever noticed before. It seemed like he had been missed. He suspected it was mainly his information they were after, but still, it reminded him of what Ereinion had told him the evening before. Maybe there were more than he knew that cared.

As he moved through the room, his eyes were drawn to one man only. A tall man, with black hair and clear grey eyes, face weathered by wind and sunshine, quietly talking to the King.

So this was Ciryatur. He was curious to hear what he had to say. Gladly he took the chair next to Cirdan, from the concerned look on the old shipwright’s face he did not look too well. He managed a smile, tried to reassure the other that everything was fine.

They settled down around the council table, started talking and he was requested to sketch the situation in Eriador from a military point of view, as he had been in charge of all the scouting operations in the past years.

"My Lords, the council will not be able to continue the current strategy of small interventions here and there. It is time to strike, or the camp in Imladris will be lost and Lindon severely threatened."  As he saw the faces darken, and people started to whisper amongst themselves, he unfolded a map.

Pointing out movements, he explained how already now Elrond’s stronghold was nearly under siege. It was cut off from the information lines and he told the men around the table that within a short time, the area around the valley would be under severe attack.

It had been sheer luck that Elrond had been able to return to the valley after Gil-Galad had called him to Lindon for council some months prior. The last messages out of Imladris had reached them only weeks after, saying that he had arrived safely, but that the roads started to be more perilous than ever.

It was partially that message that had driven him to try to get through, searching the true extent of the danger. He had only taken fifteen men with him out of the much larger troop that he had started this mission with, agility more important than strength. A mix of young and old, as he could not afford to deplete Lindon of all its seasoned veterans. But not even he had been able to reach the valley.  He sighed as he talked some of their encounters, showing where the base camps of the enemy were located –at least that information had been collected.  They had been lucky to have made it back without any casualties.  The one that was the strategist behind the orc troops knew all too well how the elves would act.

Annatar. Sauron.  

He told the council about the Dark one, for the sake of the men present, who had no experience with him, who only had heard tales from long ago. And even if he did not presume that he knew the Maia at all, let alone understood him, he probably had the best knowledge of their enemy of all in that room. 

During his time in Eregion they had interacted often enough. He had not really trusted their teacher, but he had never expected the true extent of his betrayal either, not until he had felt and heard the foul words spoken when he finished the One. There was a topic he carefully avoided, as the rings’ existence was kept hidden and secret even from many at this table. He remained vague on which objects were created, but instead told the tale of how Sauron had gained their trust. They had all learned so much of him, so many things that otherwise would have taken ages to discover. Even if they had already found how to transfer strength and power to the objects they made, they had never understood the true potential of doing so before he had come. Their creations, he told, were a result of their joint knowledge, none of the Gwaith-i-mirdain could say that they had no contribution in their forging. He himself recognized that Celebrimbor had needed his own knowledge of forging swords, of balance, flexibility and hardening of steel to weave the right pattern into the twisted metal that would form his masterpieces. Likewise, others had contributed knowledge of colours, of setting gems, of the use of metal pouring techniques, of the characteristics of mithril, silver and gold. But in their search for understanding, they had failed to see the true purpose of their teacher. And they had given him their own knowledge in return, and he had used it to betray them. How this exactly happened, he did not specify, but all around that table understood that something horrible had passed and war had started.

As he progressed through his story, the men of the island were listening wide-eyed, for even if they had known the danger to some extent, it was the first time they heard the full account of events that happened in Eregion.  He continued to describe how things were now, and that it had become clearer and clearer that they did not have the manpower to strike hard with only the elves, which clarified why Ereinion had called for help to the isle already years ago.  The Eldar had become few in these lands, and those trained and experienced in battle even rarer. The relatively peaceful first thousand years after the war of Wrath had lulled them to sleep, and most had pursued another trade before Eregion was attacked. Slowly they were rebuilding their forces – Gil-Galad had taken the tough decision to make military service mandatory again some years ago, but there were few left that could carry arms. And now men had come, for the sake of their friendship with the elves of Lindon, for their ancient family bonds with Elrond, who knew? But they were here.

As Elenluin finished, the council remained silent.

“This is bad news, commander” the King spoke first. “We had not expected that Imladris would already be threatened.”

Elenluin held his gaze, knowing what the High King was thinking. “We believe they are not in immediate danger yet as we have no indication that Sauron knows their location. However, the lands surrounding the valley are under pressure, and they will have limited access to external resources very soon, which effectively puts them under siege.”

“Tar-Minastir is prepared to help gentlemen, and he will not be avaricious with the resources that get sent. He will not let your lands be overrun, lest our isle be threatened as well. ” The booming voice of the Numenorean admiral interrupted the silence.

“Good, Admiral, tell us about this aid that we can expect, for it is time to start talking a plan of attack, knowing what is in front of us.”

And as the High King spoke, the meeting began in earnest, checking the strength of their joined troops, determining how much cavalry they would have, how many foot soldiers. How many ships.

Late that evening, after they had decided to leave the matter for the next day, they went for a joint diner in the great hall. Elenluin excused himself, avoiding an evening of small talk and not entirely lying when he told his fellow councilors that he was not very hungry, his stomach still not at ease with the food.


	5. Hesitation

So the night found him alone in his rooms. His mind still racing, thinking on how to crack the main might of Sauron, thinking on what could go wrong, how he would be able to intercept their actions. He got angrier and angrier, as he could not discover the right way to strike and frustrated he paced with clenched fists through his apartments. Gwillion had been gone for a while, driven away by his master’s foul mood and the knowledge of years, that such a mood passed quicker when left alone. His thoughts went around and around, what if he would not be able to save the ones stuck in Imladris, what if again he would fail?  How would his brother survive if Elrond was lost? He had seen the well-hidden panic in his eyes when he had heard how bad the situation was for the one he nearly considered his son.  His anger fled as he realised that he was afraid. Was he then destined to leave people behind? To let them die? Would all he loved disappear? Was he the one causing their pain? For sure it was his fault. How else could it be?

It hurt so much, to think that they would never be able to reach Imladris. He could not hold the despair at bay, even if a small voice was telling him that it was not his fault, that nothing had happened just yet, that there was still time. He felt confused, his mind numb, he longed to feel and took the knife off the table.

He cut the skin, with a trembling hand.

As he looked to his arm, his feelings were mixed. He had been so close to resisting, and again still, he had done it. Dropping the knife, he sank to his bed. The sensation of pain had cleared his mind, brought him back to reality, made him realise he did not think straight and lacked food. But as well brought him some sort of peace.

If the King would discover that he had hurt himself once more, he would only blame himself for not staying nearer.  And on that thought he felt guilty. Guilty that he had not been able to resist, even if he felt that this was not something he would be able to stop overnight. But as his mind calmed down he realised that he had known all along that he would not be healed just because he had made one bold confession to one trusted person. In that insight, he found strength. It might take a while, it might not always go well, but he knew that he would get through. He was determined to get through for his brother’s sake. If ever anything happened to Elrond, if ever his darkest fears became reality, he had to be there for him. He had to be strong to rescue him out of this situation in the first place. And he had to tell the King what he did tonight, he would take the risk and trust him to understand. He had promised that there would be no secrets between them.

He took some supplies out of his cupboards, disinfecting the cuts and put a healing balm on them, something he never had done before. And as he wrapped a bandage around his mutilated arm, he knew that he had again taken a small step in the right direction.

When finished, he wrote a small message on a piece of paper. Few words, difficult to write, and he sent them with one of the servants that were still in the hallway tending to different tasks to the High King, whom he knew would still be in the dining room eating and drinking the night away with his councilors. After that he felt finally at peace and went to sit on his balcony to rest and watch the stars.

 

Gil-Galad was sitting at the dining table, overlooking his guests, conversing with the men of Numenor and Cirdan on the building of ships, when a servant slipped a small note into his hand. He recognized the handwriting, even if there was only an “E” rune written on the front. As he opened it, he read: “I failed, brother, but I promise, tomorrow I will try again.” He crumpled the note in his hand. He knew how much it must have cost the other one to admit this to him and tried to keep himself from running to those rooms, to see how he was doing. But he resisted, knew he had to let him fight his own battle, that this was Elenluin’s way of saying: I might have faltered tonight, but I will get through this.

Cirdan saw his face though and whispered to him “What is wrong Ereinion? Bad news?”

He shook his head, “Nothing of importance to you, do not worry.” Maybe one day he would talk about it to the shipwright, but not too soon. Some things were too personal to be shared, and if he could, he would make sure that this was forever something only between him and his brother.

 


	6. A friend

A small knock on the door made Elenluin realise that though he had just walked the paths of dreams at first under the starlit sky, he had slowly fallen into a deeper state of sleep. Raising from his chair, he wondered who would be around at this hour of the evening, when it was close to midnight.

“Elenluin?” he could hear a soft voice muffled by the door.

He opened it quickly upon recognizing its owner “Gildor, is something wrong?”

The other seemed to be slightly embarrassed “no not really, I just happened to pass by and thought I’d come over to see if you were all right.”

As he beckoned Inglorion to enter, and softly closed the door behind him, he answered with the best smile he could manage “sure, everything fine, why would I not be?”

Gildor hesitated. “I did not see you at dinner tonight, and no one seemed to know where you went? They said you had attended council all day and then disappeared.”

“No, no, there’s nothing wrong, I wasn’t very hungry, and you know how it goes when you come back from patrol.”

“So did the council decide yet? How we have to move forward?”

Elenluin shook his head, “nothing decided yet, way too early, and you know I cannot inform you of the decisions even if they are taken… Let it be enough that the King has asked me to stay here for a while, and it seems like he would like you to stay close too.”

Gildor slowly nodded. “It is probably wise to be here until the plans are clear.  I don’t think we could bring back more than we have already by going out again.” And though he did not speak the thoughts, he made a note to himself that surely the King as well must have seen that his commander in chief seemed stretched and tired.

“You want a drink Gildor?” Elenluin asked to his own surprise.

“No, I will go back now, it is late and council will start early again I assume. But maybe, shall we have dinner together tomorrow? I do not feel like joining the crowd out there again.”

And Elenluin nodded and realised that indeed, he would like that very much. To have a quiet evening with someone he trusted.

“Good, I’ll see you around tomorrow evening then. In the meantime I will make sure that I’ll pass by young Teliglan during the day, to see how he’s doing. I know you won’t have any time soon with the things going on right now.”

“Thank you Gildor, that’s indeed an excellent idea, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. I will see you tomorrow then.”

And as he closed the door behind his second in command, he allowed himself to be surprised, Inglorion really only had come to check on him. On him.


	7. Sun in the stream

The next days, council usually resigned around noon. There was more to do than just talk, many of those present had duties to attend in preparation for war.

Elenluin used the time to meet his captains and lieutenants, making sure they all prepared for battle. Weapons had to be checked, food gathered and logistics taken care of, for the campaign was going to be hard and they would not have time to live of the land, if anything at all was left there after the enemy had passed. He feared for the people, more and more refugees were coming to the city now every day and it became clear that the situation was approaching a critical point.

The masters of the guilds had been summoned to the council, warning them that war was now coming in earnest and that all would be expected to contribute to the preparations even more than they already had. The last two years they had been waiting for this to happen, he knew, slowly gathering their forces here and no one was really unprepared. Still, to feed more than twenty thousand soldiers plus a growing refugee population, there were arrangements to be made. Luckily Ciryatur’s men had stayed partially at sea, supported from Numenor, to sustain another hundred thousand would have been nearly impossible.

Elenluin had roughly a third of Gil-Galad’s army under his command, while Elrond held about a quarter in and around Rivendell.  The rest consisted of a number of noble lords, each with a smaller force, held together only by Ereinion himself.  He knew they were in relatively good shape, his men had been training relentlessly whenever at home, but the new ones that had joined from all over Eriador, hearing the call to arms of their king, had not been all so fit. His officers and sergeants were doing what they could to remediate that though, and they had welcomed any man for they desperately needed the strength.  Every day he would ride around the encampments that were placed around the city, from meeting to meeting. When he would pass one of the many training grounds, he would encourage those that had just started sword fighting, and sometimes he would challenge one of his captains and sharpen his own skills – or theirs, there were not so many that could best him these days.

Not so long ago, there had been times when he would have lost himself in training. Days he would spend planning, nights he would exercise, never letting himself rest and never giving himself time to think. He knew he could and should not go back to that and tried to keep measure in how much time he spent at the training grounds, however tempting it was to linger there.

Still, he loved to join the new recruits’ evening run.  Along the beaches of the gulf of Lune they would start, building their endurance. Their track avoided the noisy encampments that seemed to be omnipresent outside of the city, but rather chose to go along the beaches. He would go further when they turned back, as he knew that running helped to get the dark thoughts out of his mind and made him tired enough to sleep. He enjoyed to hear the sound of the sea and the sight of the sunset over the water.

On the seventh day, when they resigned their meeting, he asked Ereinion half-jokingly how his physical state was, as he had to join so many banquets and councils and Elenluin hardly ever saw him move. “You will get fat, my friend, if you continue like this.”

“I know, but I doubt if my bodyguards will let me out of this palace. I assume you have nothing to do with that?” Gil-Galad knew fully well that indeed his brother had taken precautions to assure his safety in these dangerous times. And not entirely without reason, as attacks were reported to draw closer and closer. But as he replied, Elenluin smirked, “you had better take them with you, I believe they are becoming lazy. What do you think, brother mine, a run tonight? There are tracks that are suitable.”

“I would love to, you know that. And after, let’s go for diner together, I am sick of these feasts.”

As Elenluin left, he made sure to make some arrangements, talking the thing through with the captain of the King’s personal guard.  They decided he would join the new recruit’s run. After all not too many would know his face there, and Elenluin would join as well to assure his safety.

The rest of the day was lost in the usual organization of things and evening was nearly falling when he joined Gildor whom by coincidence was in charge of this night’s run.

“They are all more or less a year in the city, and have been checked, there should be no danger.” His second in command assured him. Elenluin nodded, he knew, had double checked the list of names himself. He felt his daggers hidden in his clothes, knew that they were prepared, even if this side of the river was perfectly safe, so close to the water, far beyond the reach of the enemy. He breathed, had this been folly? No, it was something he had to do. He knew how much Ereinion longed for a normal life.  This was probably the only thing he could do to give back some of the care he received.

As Ereinion arrived, quietly slipping into the back of the troop, Elenluin looked at the King. He blended in nicely with the young ones, not entirely lying when he told them he had fought in the past, but it was so long ago that he did not feel comfortable to join the other more experienced platoons. It didn’t take long before they were laughing at his jokes. Elenluin smiled. It would be a nice evening.

They started running following the shimmering stream. He found his brother next to him soon enough, his grey eyes sparkling in the sunlight. They did not speak, but as they all too quickly approached the turning point, they shared a look and Elenluin rapidly let himself fall back to where Gildor was, motivating some of the struggling new ones. He returned only seconds later, a smile on his face and nodded to Ereinion.

The recruits were a bit surprised, when they saw their newest member running next to Elenluin. They were more than a little afraid of the stern commander, and up till now, even though he had joined them for a few days in a row, no one had dared talk to him directly.

The black haired new elf seemed to be jesting with the commander as they approached the docklands that marked the end point of their run, and one or two afterwards even said they heard them _both_ laugh. But what surprised them most was that when they stopped for a moment at those docks, just before returning to the city, the two detached themselves from the company and ran at a high speed further along the river.

They looked at Gildor for guidance and saw him warmly smiling at the duo taking off, before he turned his attention back to them. “Let’s go back, and make sure we are on time for supper, boys.”

“But sir, do we not need to wait for them? Is it safe to be out there alone?”

“They will be fine, I dare say that no one would risk to attack those two, and if someone would, I doubt he would survive.”

The puzzled expression on the faces of his recruits caused Gildor to laugh. “No worries, young ones, I will explain you in the morning, now come on, let’s get back!” A smile lingered on his face, as they returned, while he thought on how he would tell this small troop tomorrow that they had met the High King himself and had not realised it. But for now he would keep the secret, until the two were safely back into the palace.

 

Elenluin and Ereinion ran on, “To the lighthouse, little one?” 

The smith nodded, that was a good end point, more or less doubling the initial distance.

As they saw it draw nearer, Elenluin looked next to him and saw the flushed colour of his brother’s cheeks, but more importantly he as well saw the wide smile on his face. He clearly enjoyed the moment every bit as much as he did himself. 

Ereinion dropped in the sand next to the tower as they arrived, panting a little.

“Only two minutes of respite brother, before we return, I don’t want to be late for dinner.” Elenluin said. The King looked to his side, and noticed how the smith was intently watching the sea, trying to see some of the ships the Numenoreans had brought with them. 

“This is far better than dinner, if it was up to me, I could stay here all evening.”

Elenluin laughed, “you will soon enough sleep on the ground and eat next to a simple fire my King, enjoy your feathered bed while you still can. No, honestly, I think we will be prepared to leave in two or three days at most. Ciryatur is ready too I believe, and this might very well be our last evening in peace for a long time.”

“I realised that too. Thank you for taking me here and letting me escape at least one night of all of that….” He gestured with his arm to the city, not sure how to express the weight of responsibility, honour and etiquette to his brother.

Elenluin just smiled – and Ereinion thought he had not seen him laugh as often as he had done this evening for many years. With a sudden movement, the smith started to run back again, without waiting for his now cursing King, who was forced to chase him over the soft sand, until he as well reached the track.  And as they came back, the palace guards saw them approaching, two elves running, with the wind in their hair and the sun on their backs. And as they saw who it were, both breathless and sweated, they quickly opened the gates, letting them back in.  Stories would be told of this night, that they both knew, and when they had refreshed themselves, they were still laughing at the dinner table on how surprised the recruits would be when they discovered who exactly their newest addition had been.


	8. Shining Star

After dinner they went back to Gil-Galad’s study and as Elenluin entered, a wave of melancholy swept over him. It would indeed be the last evening that they had the chance to be here, for tomorrow would be filled with the last preparations and he doubted if there would be any time left at all to enjoy a quiet evening. After that, war would start again, another battle to be fought. His thoughts inevitably were going back to another last night, not so long ago, when his own city was still standing.

Ereinion somehow sensed the change of his mood. “What are you thinking about, Elenluin?”

The other looked pensively to the glass of wine he held in his hands. “I wonder Ereinion, if we will ever have peace here. In one way I cannot wait to go after those who have destroyed all I once loved. In another, I loathe myself for enjoying the killing. For it gives some satisfaction, even if it does not diminish the grief.” He paused for a moment, hesitating, then continued. “There was this young boy at my last patrol, first time in a fighting group, you know the kind. He cried, Ereinion, after his first battle. Not for his friends that were slain, for we lost none, but for the creatures he had killed. Do you remember the last time when we were upset because we had taken a life?” He looked up and could not hide the grief in his eyes.

“I do not. I remember being sick and miserable after my first fights, exhausted and haunted by the friends I saw being slayed, but that was different. Maybe I have been at some point, but I do not recall it. We have been fighting for so long. Do you still remember?”

Slowly he nodded, “The evening after that very first encounter of the war of Wrath, when I was summoned to Maglor’s tent. He was the one who later told me the same as what I told the young one. That he would have found it far worse if I had not cared at all. But tell me, how the boy should believe me if I cannot recall that feeling myself? If indeed I have stopped caring a long time ago? Only revenge is left Ereinion, revenge and pain. And revenge is near, because for the first time in many years, I believe we can win this war. The plan is solid, we are in the best conditions possible. But what after that?”

Ereinion kept silent for a while, thinking. In the end he answered “If we win, and I say if, for I have seen Sauron get away with more than we ever thought possible, there will be still some open items to be closed. We will need to rebuild the land. There will be more refugees coming soon and winter will be tough next year, with little time to sow the crops this spring and the enemy still burning our fields. And after that, who knows what will come? Maybe we will have our peace then.” He looked Elenluin in the eyes and added “as for you, my brother, there will always be a place for a man with your talents.”

The other shook his head “A soldier? A fighter? A man that does not have a place to call home in this world? I don’t know Ereinion. I don’t know.”

“This is your home, and always will be, as long as I live. And you are much more than a soldier. Elenluin, yes, you are my leader of war these days, and good at that too. But not so long ago you were a master smith, renowned amongst your people, and even before that, you gave hope to the men with your songs, with your music.”

The smith had not visited the forges of Harlindon ever since he had returned from Eregion.  Too many hours he had spent there in the past with Celebrimbor, thinking and dreaming of a city where smiths would rule and Ereinion knew it. But the King was sure that one day, Elenluin would go back there, and pick up his trade again. The rhythm of the hammer would never leave him, the urge to create would become too strong, he was certain of that.

His brother nodded unconvinced, “I am tired, will go back to my rooms. It will be a long day tomorrow.” But as he rose to get back to his own chambers Ereinion stopped him, laying his hand on his damaged, bandaged arm and very softly said “Don’t go, not like this. Stay a while until you feel better. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but don’t leave.” And as the smith sank back on the couch, he knew he was right. Even if he craved for solitude – he knew he should not be alone in this moment.

“Do you mind if I practice my harp a bit, little one? It has been a while, and there will not be any opportunity soon.”

Elenluin shook his head, he would listen, as he had done so often before. Ereinion started some old song and as he curled up on the comfortable sofa, he allowed himself to feel. To feel the grief that resurfaced again every day at the end of the day, when he thought about evenings spent now long ago with his beloved. When it had been him playing for her and their young son, cradling the boy to sleep.

Later, Ereinion Gil-Galad took a blanket out of his own bedroom, and draped it carefully over his sleeping brother.  He had not spoken of the tears he had seen the other cry during the late hours of evening. He knew how Elenluin could hardly bear to show his feelings to someone else and had not dared to interrupt this rare display of emotions. But he had stayed close, quietly playing and it had been enough to calm the smith down somehow, and let him fall asleep in the end. It had been a good evening.

He looked pensively at Elenluin, who from the expression on his face seemed to be caught in a dream of some sorts and knew he would not sleep tonight.  He would stay awake and close in case his brother needed him.  He had learned these last months how terrible his nightmares could be. And as his fingers touched his harp again to try and soothe the one sleeping on his couch, they found another melody. One that had once served to pull the one in front of him out of the lethargy that he had fallen into after his wife and son’s deaths. But after a few notes, his fingers hesitated. Some months ago the smith had asked him if he knew what the original lyrics were to this song that everyone thought to have none. Elenluin had shown him an old manuscript that he had apparently rescued out of the war of Wrath.  How exactly he had obtained it from Maglor, he had never told. But the lyrics were about Fingon. The one song that all soldiers would hum on lonely nights, reflecting their grief for lost comrades, had once been written for his father. Sadness came over him. Oh father, will this never end? Will they make songs about me one day as they sing of you? Will they only remember me for eternal war? Or will something else remain? He sighed and put down his harp. Going to his desk and opening one of the locked drawers, he found the one personal message he ever received from his father. A small, blood stained book, sent to him by Turgon, on a sad day long ago.

_My dear boy,_

_I sent you away, my child, to an island you did not know. If your mother would have been here, I would have sent her with you, but as it is, I can only hope that you have found something like a home there in Balar. It has been nearly fifteen years since we last met, and I do not even presume you remember me, you were still so young. Life has been hard in the meantime, and I am glad you did not have to experience it. It was no place for a child in Hithlum…_

_I have asked Cirdan to care for you, and even though I know he is grumpy and stern sometimes (though you shouldn’t tell him I wrote so), he is one of the most trustworthy people I know. He will love you, my little one, and care for you, now I no longer can. For I feel that this union, this mad attempt of us, to defy the enemy, might fail. If your uncle doesn’t come, and who knows where he is, if he is still alive, we are doomed. If any of the men’s troops fail to come as promised, we are doomed. If Maitimo’s brothers do not keep true to their word… no, he will, they will, we will be victorious, and then I will see you again my son, and never will you have to read this letter. For when you do, you know I have fallen, and they have found a way to get this book to you, so far away. I wonder now, if I should have kept you with me, but it is a selfish thought, for it would have been to give me peace, rather than you safety…_

_Remember who you are my son, who your father and grandfather were, but hold true to yourself above all, listen to your heart, as I almost always did. There is no other advice I can give you, I am not one of the wise, only a simple soldier, who has always tried to do what is best for his people._

_I love you my little shining star,_

_Atto_

A space followed the signature, and Ereinion had always wondered if the letters had been slightly smeared out by the wetness of the battlefield, or if his father had cried when he wrote this. He would never know. The last bit was written in a stronger hand, with a line above and below the paragraph, he had clearly wanted to draw attention to those sentences:

_Turukano, Maitimo, whoever of you reads this – for I hope it will be one of you that finds me, my brothers in blood and soul. Get this one back to Ereinion, please, I beg you. And whatever has happened that led to this I tell you –do not hate, not each other, not another. Take the burden I left behind, let the little one be spared from it for a while longer. Live, lead and fight on._

_Findekano Nolofinwion_

There were more letters in the book, obviously written much earlier, the first ones dating from the crossing of the Helcaraxe. They were addressed to his grandfather, to his mother, to Maedhros, to Turgon.  He had read them all but none was as dear to him as this one.

He did remember his father, his long black hair and his shining grey eyes. He had few sharp memories, but he could still remember how Fingon would meet Maedhros and Maglor. He, being only a small boy, sneaked in behind them into his father’s study, quietly sitting nearby and looking at the two impressive Feanorians with awe. They had been friendly to him, and he had spent many an evening with the bard, who seemed to enjoy playing with him while his father and Maedhros were talking by the fire. He had never forgotten how those meetings had made his almost eternally worried father laugh. And he had remembered those moments when all the things happened after.  It had made him realise very early on that ‘good’ and ‘bad’ were never as clear as they seemed at first sight.

He put the book away, carefully wrapping it once again in the velvet black cloth to preserve it. One day this would disappear, the letters were fading quickly, and even now he would not have been able to discern the words anymore if he had not read it so often that he knew them by heart. He never had the letter copied, as was custom for important documents. This was too personal, and if it would be gone, he would still carry the words in his soul.

He had to lead on now, it was his task, and he too had gambled by asking the aid of men. This evening, he prayed to the Valar that he had made a better bet than his father and Maedhros had.


	9. Intermezzo: Ciryatur's log

Sulime, 15

Today it seems one of the Elven King’s main military advisors has arrived. We heard about him before, but he has not been here in the last month. They call him the Smith, and apparently he has joined the army only some years ago. He seemed to have been leading the scouting patrols into the east, over the mountains. Strange, one would wonder why the King let one of his chief councilors go there, in such a risky area, especially if he is no experienced soldier.  I heard the concern voiced even from his own advisors, but this one seems to be somewhat special. Rumour has it that he is high in the King’s favour and I believe it.  I heard that Gil-Galad dismissed his audiences this afternoon as soon he arrived and he did not join us tonight at dinner, for the first time since we came here. He left us in the company of the Lord Cirdan though, whom I need to say I admire, his ships are superior to even those we build in the best wharfs of Numenor. But the shipwright as well avoided to say anything on the Lord that arrived today, when we asked. I am curious to meet this one, we will see tomorrow.

 

Sulime, 16

We have seen the Lord Elenluin today. He is impressive indeed, as tall as the King and wiry built. He did not waste any time with small talk, started with explaining to us who our enemy was. Finally, someone who stopped beating around the bush!

It seems like he knew him well, this enemy of ours. He was there, they say, when the city of smiths fell, which would explain why he is the first elf I meet that has visible scars.  It looks like the situation in the East is worse than we thought. We will not have the luxury of long planning, we will have to strike as soon as we can.

Sulime, 18

We are planning, and some of these elves keep on talking. These advisors repeat their arguments endlessly, without bringing anything new to the table. Some think we should put all our forces in one side, others –more precisely I – think that we better split our troops, hitting the enemy in the back, and I am gaining support amongst the bolder councilors of the King. Cirdan is already on my side, and it seems Lord Elenluin will be soon. Smith they still call him, but I have learned he was a soldier before he was a smith, and has served in wars even before our country existed. It is a strange idea that these elves lived while Elros Tar-Minyatur was king.

 

Sulime, 23

There was uproar today in Council, they say the King has taken an unnecessary risk, he has been out of the boundaries of the city yesterday without a bodyguard. However, the discussion was quickly silenced when Elenluin started speaking. It was the first time that I saw him lose his patience with those continuously bickering men, though I could tell he was sorely tempted before. When he interrupted the quarreling councilors this morning and told them in not to be misunderstood terminology that they had better focus on their own tasks, rather than burdening the king with internal arguing, they were immediately quieted. I must say I start to see why Gil-Galad trusts him. He is a man of action rather than words, as am I.  In the afternoon recess I have never seen him in the palace, he is ever out readying his elven troops, as I go to my captains to get our ships prepared.  It is decided, we leave in two days.

Sulime, 27

Ah, to be back on my ship, at last… as much as I liked my stay in the elven High King’s halls, I missed this life. All those refined Lords and Ladies, with their eternal love for music and arts… they tried to entertain us, I could tell, but there is just a limit to how many banquets a man can stand to attend.  All the talking, discussing… If not for a few of the King’s councilors and the impatience of the King himself, they would be talking still. Gil-Galad is a strong leader though, and he reigned them in, so we are moving, finally!

 

Viresse, 28

We have successfully completed the first phase, messages have reached us that the evil one’s army is driven back in front of our troops, the King came over the mountains, and out of the refuge that was still held by the elves in the east came Elrond half-elven, the one they say is the brother of our first king. With him was the remainder of the King Gil-Galad’s army that had been besieged in that valley.  They are pressing forward as we speak, now my part will come into play. My ships are ready, the Gwathló will be our friend, at Tharbad we disembark.


	10. Escaped

It was over, it was done. Elenluin looked around him and saw the fields full of the bodies of their enemies. But the one they were hunting for had fled. He had gone after him with a number of his own platoon, but still the foul spirit that had caused this war had escaped. Fighting his way to him, he had seen him depart, fleeing with only a small personal guard it seemed, going for speed above strength. And again – despite his hatred - he marveled at the intelligence of their enemy. It was something he would have pushed Gil-Galad to do as well when put into the same situation, albeit with less ease than Sauron had. The Maia had left behind his troops without any sign of doubt at the critical time and made sure he survived.  He must have known that there was no future for his troops without him, while when he would sacrifice them and escape he might still hold his stronghold in Mordor and start anew. It was a cold-hearted decision, as all that Sauron ever took, but from a tactical point of view, undoubtedly the right one.

Elenluin turned around his horse, motioning his weary companions to come with him and give up the pointless chase that they had started behind their enemy. “Let him go, our horses will not be able to catch up with him, not in our current state.” It pained him to give the command, but he knew that what made him most different from their opponent was exactly this, the fact that he cared about his men, would not send them to their end without good reason and he knew that they now were all too tired to start a long pursuit and still fight after.  

Slowly riding back, he felt that the wound he had received at his thigh was weakening him. He would have to find a healer soon, but first he wanted to make sure that his King was fine. Last time he had seen Gil-Galad’s standard, it seemed that he was reunited with the company that had come out of Imladris. As he returned to the battlefield, he was relieved to see that the amount of elves and men killed seemed relatively little versus the orcs that had been almost annihilated after their leader had left them. Still, a lot of lives were lost once more, here at the fords of the Gwathló, and it was not even exactly victory that they had achieved.

Elenluin reached the King’s standard sooner than he expected, as the troops were gathering in the middle of the fields.  He approached and saw Ciryatur and Elrond standing with Gil-Galad. The King stood tall above the others, spear in his hand, his grey eyes shining even clearer than usual in his dirt-covered face. Elenluin sighed with relief, they all seemed unharmed, though more than a bit exhausted. As he carefully dismounted, he groaned, and saw that blood was now seeping through his armour where the sword of his opponent had pierced his thigh. It did not matter, they were done, it was over, and leaning on his sword, he approached his superiors, his friends.

With a nod of his head, he greeted them, too weary for the pleasantries they would have exchanged at court. “My lord Elrond,” he said “Mae govanen, good to see you here unscathed.” The peredhel smiled briefly, “Likewise Sir Elenluin, I heard you came looking for me a while ago.”

Gil-Galad turned around hearing his voice, relief apparent in his eyes. “How did you and yours fare Elenluin?”

“Minor losses, we need to see how many, but I expect no more than a few hundred.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “He escaped Ereinion. We could not follow as we were, but give me some of my men with fresh horses and we will go after him.”

“You, my friend, are not going anywhere until you have that wound taken care of.” The King gestured to his leg, where now the blood had soaked the leather and was flowing through.

He wanted to protest, but felt too weak to stand without the support of his sword. He knew Gil-Galad was right. Still he muttered between his teeth. “He will escape, and we will regret it later.”

Elrond stared dreamily in the distance “many a year will pass before we finally defeat him, today is not the day.”

Ciryatur had been observing their conversation up till that point, but now interrupted “Lords, we might not have captured the one that started this, still we freed the land of much evil. Look around us, little of our own men do we need to mourn, while the orcs are nigh extinguished in these lands. Let us celebrate tonight, for the alliance between men and elves was victorious.” And after a moment he looked at Elenluin, grinning “I saw you fight my Lord Elenluin, and I must say, I was glad you were on our side. I have never seen any man or elf so fiercely in battle.”

Elenluin smiled throughout the pain of his wound and the bitter disappointment of not capturing their enemy and clasped the other’s outstretched hand. “The same could be said of you Admiral, and without your valiant troops, we would not have been able to secure this victory.”

He had lost his balance slightly by the movement but quickly recovered, however the King had noticed. “Elenluin, get to the healers, right now, and that is an order commander. I want that wound taken care of as soon as you can.” Elenluin turned around, gritting his teeth for he hated being dismissed in this way, but before he could go Elrond interrupted, “the healers are busy Gil-Galad, let me take a quick look at it when we are back at camp.”

The smith shot him a grateful look and so the leaders of the alliance went back to the place where their troops had started putting up their camps, riding one next to the other, elves and men, tired and battered, but victorious. 


	11. Camp

As they approached the base camp, the soldiers were cheering their King. Gil-Galad was riding ahead with Elrond next to him, smiling to the troops. They stopped to talk here and there to those that merrily shouted at them. Ciryatur was close behind, waving at his own warriors, his booming voice answering the cries of his men in Adunaic.

Elenluin smiled as well, as he rode on at the back of the little group. He felt light headed because of the blood loss, but he wouldn’t let his men see he was hurt. They deserved the taste of victory, and his own frustrations and pains should not stop them from enjoying the feasts.

As they approached the tents and dismounted, Elenluin barely managed to stay standing, remaining up only by tightly holding the saddle of his horse next to him. Elrond was beside him before he could even utter a word, and quickly supported him. “Come, Elenluin, let’s get that wound looked after.”

Limping, held carefully by the master healer, he walked towards his assigned tent. It was positioned close to the King’s quarters and as he entered, he saw his young armour bearer busily arranging some items inside. “My Lord, shall I help you out of your mail?”

By that time, exhaustion really kicked in, and all he could do was nod. He sank down with some help of Elrond on the straw mattress that had been placed in a corner.   The young one removed his breast plate and mail shirt and he felt relieved of the weight. After that, he dismissed the boy, told him to fetch a meal and join the festivities.

As Elrond helped him to further undress so he could look at the wound, he let himself sink back on the mattress, closing his eyes.

“It is just a flesh wound Elrond”

“Let me be the judge of that. It seems like you have lost much blood, and I want to properly check if there is no artery hit.”

“If that had been the case, I would not have gotten here my lord, trust me, it is just a flesh wound.”

As he started investigating, the peredhel casually said “Why did you attempt to get to me in Rivendell, Elenluin? Gil-Galad told me you tried for weeks before you returned to him.”

No answer came, and he glanced to the other’s face. Elenluin looked white and exhausted. He was observing the tent’s ceiling and did not react to what he had asked. He sighed, he had never been able to get through the barriers the smith had built around himself.

He bandaged the wound, which indeed was relatively harmless when taken proper care off, and helped Elenluin put on his clothes again. As he did so, he asked “shall I have a look at your back as well? How is it nowadays? Did it improve lately?”

The smith did not answer and just removed his sweated under-tunic. As his arm protection had been ripped apart when parrying a blow he slowly removed the straps too, cautiously keeping his arms turned down hidden from sight.

Elrond inspected the countless scars wordlessly, they indeed looked somewhat better. The places where the armour straps were eternally chafing his skin would always remain sensitive, but the rest looked healthier than some months ago. Carefully examining him, he noticed that the smith had become very thin. Nothing but muscles and bones were visible under the thick scars and he reminded himself to have a word with Gil-Galad on getting him some proper rest and food. As he put on the numbing balm on Elenluin's back and glanced over his shoulder, he could not help but see the state of Elenluin's lower arms. More scars, scars he did not remember, and some barely healed cuts.

As he wiped his hands clean, he looked Elenluin in the eyes and sharply said “does anyone know about this?”

The smith returned the questioning stare calmly. “Yes, Ereinion does, and I would appreciate if you would forget about it. It is something that should not concern you, master Elrond. Now go to your own tent, and take care of yourself, for you as well must want some refreshments. I will manage here, do not worry. I will see you at the feast tonight.”

“Elenluin, you are too weakened, take some rest, you should not stand on that leg for at least a week.”

A gesture of the smith’s hand told Elrond that his advice would not be followed.

“Just leave me Elrond, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I will do what is needed tonight.”

The stubborn trait around his mouth spoke for itself and while the master healer had already been irritated, he now really got angry with the man in front of him, who clearly did not want to hear what he had to say.

“Very well Elenluin, do whatever you want.” and giving up on keeping up appearances, Elrond turned around and stormed out of the tent. Inside, out of his sight, Elenluin sank back on his mattress, as he finally let the pain overwhelm him.


	12. Anger

Elrond was still fuming when he entered Gil-Galad’s tent. He had spent some time in his own quarters and refreshed, but even that short respite had not calmed him down.

“Elrond, good to see you here unharmed.” Now, in the privateness of his tent, Gil-Galad rose and embraced his friend. “You cannot imagine how glad I was to see you, after the reports we received. I feared you would get besieged in Imladris in earnest.”

“So was I, but he never discovered our exact position. The valley is well hidden and we have a good availability of supplies, I think we could withhold a siege for a long time there.”

Gil-Galad nodded pensively. “How fares Elenluin? Anything serious?”

A grim expression crossed Elrond’s face. “He will be alright soon enough, at least if he would listen to what I told him.”

The King raised an eyebrow, questioningly.

“Ah, Gil-Galad, he just chased me out of his tent when I told him he had to rest.”

“Elrond, you know how he is, and on a day like today I can imagine he does not want to miss out on the feast this evening, he wants to show his men his gratitude.”

“I just think he was upset because I saw some things he did not want me to see. He told me you knew about these wounds on his arms? What is this now?”

Gil-Galad’s expression was indiscernible. “It is none of your concern Elrond, if he didn’t tell you, I will not discuss it either.”

Elrond angrily landed his fist on the table before him “What do you think Gil-Galad? That I am blind? That I do not know how these kind of wounds come to be? When will he admit that he needs help? When will he ever stop hiding? Does he really think he is the only one that grieves? Sometimes I believe he is only trying to get attention.” Bitterness sounded through his words, and he knew it, and regretted them the moment they were spoken.

“Silence.” Gil-Galad did not shout, did not even raise his voice, but Elrond knew he had gone too far none the less. “Yes, we have all our burdens to bear. None of us has had an easy life up till now. Do not think I underestimate what _you_ have gone through, Elrond.”

“This is not about me.” Elrond muttered

“Ah but it is, and you know it. There is no way to measure, let alone compare the amount sorrow that someone experiences. You have lost a lot, and so has he. But aside from that, I think there is no greater grief in this world than for a parent to lose his child. Of all people, you, who wish to be a healer, should understand that.” he looked up and watched the younger elf fight with his emotions. “Elrond, everyone has a right to cope with their burdens in their own way. My boy, you were able to talk about what happened to you relatively quickly and I was glad, for it helped you through. And luckily, you never went into the darkness as far as Elenluin has. Elrond, it has been less than three years of the sun since he lost all his family and suffered tortures that many would not have survived. And even before that, he was never a man of many words. I still hope the day will come that he will trust others, but for now, I am the only one in whom he will confide his sorrows and pains. And I can tell you that even to do that, he has to overcome himself each time.” His voice had grown softer and softer as he spoke, he paused, then added almost whispering “I will not break his trust, not even to you.”

Elrond nodded miserably, leaning his clenched fists on the table. It remained silent for a while before he finally replied “You are right, I should not have said what I have said. I do not know what was in me. It is just that he sometimes looks at me as if… do you think I should go back to him? I did not leave in the best of moods.”

Gil-Galad put his hand on his shoulder “You do not have to, I will go and talk to him, given the circumstances I think that he needs me anyway.  As for you, he cares for you, in his own way, he just hates to admit it to himself and hides behind the thought that he needs to protect you for me. He is probably very upset tonight. Revenge was close for him, Elrond, he tried to get through and he saw the one that destroyed all the happiness he ever experienced escape before his own eyes.”

Elrond shrugged “it is better than being taken by the one that wrecked your house.”

“I know, I know, my boy, and you will never be able to understand how much I regret not having been able to arrive early enough to prevent that.”

“I might comprehend more than you think, after Eregion.”

And Gil-Galad nodded, lost for words for once, and embraced him. Elrond found back his composure and whispered once more, “I am sorry, truly. It is just that he pushes away very effectively all those who care.”

“Elrond, my son, It is nothing, trust me that he will be alright. There is no need for feeling guilty, I am well aware he is not the easiest person to understand. Now you go to the men, I will join you shortly. They are as much in need of us tonight as the one I am going to pay a visit first.”

 


	13. Lean on me

Gil-Galad walked over to the tent nearby, nodding and smiling to those around him.

He opened the flap and took a deep breath, not knowing what he would meet inside. As it was, he saw Elenluin lying on his mattress, leg bandaged, apparently asleep.

He looked pensively to the other elf and turned around, planning to leave again.

“So he talked to you.” Elenluin’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Yes, he came”

“Did you tell him?”

“No, I promised” he simply answered

Elenluin’s eyes fluttered open, “Thank you.” He took a deep breath and pushed himself to sitting position. “He was very angry with me... I will have to talk to him later.”

Gil-Galad slowly nodded, “that might be a good idea, he is confused.”

“I know and rightly so. Blame it on tiredness and frustration, today was not a great day, despite what we gained.” A tortured look crossed his face. Within seconds, his expression returned to the usual composed calmness, but the King was not fooled. He knew how hard the day had been on Elenluin. He dared not probe further though, as it seemed that the other was not planning to discuss it with him.

“Elrond is a good man, Ereinion. He is wise, just and kind. He just needs to accept that he cannot help everyone. I will talk to him.” Speaking, Elenluin heaved himself up and Ereinion came quickly to his aid.

When the smith was standing, leaning on his good leg and holding his brother’s shoulder, he looked the other in the eyes. “Now that this is done, you should start giving some thought on what you want to do here in the East. Elrond managed more than well in Imladris, and if I were you, I would think of making his position somewhat more official.”

“Speak further?”

“Ereinion, everyone knows he is as a son to you, and he is an excellent leader, give him some responsibility to confirm his station. I know you would like to keep him with you in Lindon, but reality is that there are very few men of his talent around, and he deserves to have his own place to learn how to rule and build his own circle of advisors. If ever anything happens…” he did not continue the sentence.

“You want me to appoint him as my successor?” Ereinion softly said.

“No, I don’t. It would divide our people unnecessarily. Some of them would never accept a quarter-Noldor half-elf as their king, despite him being the great-grandson of Turgon. Besides… it is not too late to get a heir yourself.”   
Gil-Galad started to protest, but was interrupted by the smith. “No, my brother, I know how you feel about it, but it is not something we should tell the people. On something that personal, you need to be free to change your mind, whenever you want…  What I would do is call him officially your second in command. I’m sure you can think of a title that would match that position.”

Ereinion did not seem convinced. “I will consider it. We will anyway have to hold council soon, and invite Cirdan, Celeborn and Galadriel.”

Elenluin squeezed his shoulder slightly, “I agree. Celeborn seems to have stayed behind in Imladris to hold the valley. But that we can still talk later, now go out to the feast, the men will miss you.”

“Elrond is already there, he will keep them entertained” the King smiled “and the same is valid for you, my friend, your men will want to see you. Will you manage to go?”

“If I can find someone to support me to go there, I will, although I shouldn’t stay too long, to not upset our peredhel friend even more.” Elenluin had to admit to himself he did not feel hungry at all and wanted nothing more than to stay within his own tent in his current state, but knew he could not leave his men alone tonight, not now they had their so hard fought victory. For the few surviving smiths and apprentices that had taken service in his troops, for all the ones that had been involved in the siege of Eregion, he had to show his gratitude somehow.

“Lean on me.” The King said “I’m sure we can find your armour bearer out there somewhere, or I’ll get you to your seat myself.” and as they slowly started to walk, Gil-Galad repeated, “don’t worry, lean on me.”

He could not know Elenluin’s carefully guarded thoughts, _I already do, brother, without you, I would have been lost a long time ago._

 

 

It was getting later, and Elenluin felt not well. The exhaustion of the events of the day, the blood loss, combined with a cup of wine, even if it had only been one to keep up appearances, was taking its toll.

Aside from those that had been assigned watch duty, almost all were drunk now, and rowdy shouting could be heard around the different fires.

The smith looked around, there was no chance of him returning alone to his tent, he knew his leg would not support him.  He did not want to interrupt Gil-Galad, who seemed to be laughing and enjoying himself in the company of men, nor did he want to ask Elrond. He grimaced, one encounter was enough for today. When he saw young Teliglan passing by, he quickly gestured him to come over.

“Sir, what can I do for you?” the boy was smiling and seemed still sober enough to be able to come to his aid.

“Can you help me Teliglan? My leg won’t allow me to walk without support.”

As the young one approached, he indeed saw the bandage around the thigh of his commander. “I did not realise you were wounded sir. Do you want to go back to your tent?”

“Yes, if you have a few minutes” He started pushing himself up from where he was sitting, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

Teliglan quickly supported him as he got up and together they started walking towards the commander’s tent, which was fortunately not far away. The young one felt how heavily his superior had to lean on him, and was happy when they could enter. He carefully let Elenluin down on his mattress.

As he was sitting, the commander looked up, and with a hoarse voice said “Thank you, Teliglan, I would appreciate it if you kept this to yourself.”

“But sir, do I not have to get a healer? Will you be all right?”

Elenluin nodded, and straightened his back, “don’t worry, I just need to rest a little, tomorrow I will be fine. Blow out the candle when you leave, will you?”

He saw the young boy depart, and started to undress. Halfway through, his tunic removed, chest bare, he hesitated. He was sweating and shivering, and knew he had a fever from wound and exhaustion. But his mind was clearer than the hours before, and all the events of the day came back to him, in this small moment of quiet solitude. As the sounds of the feast outside continued, he felt the despair and loneliness creeping back. Nothing had been really won, and the one they were after was now so far away that pursuit would be pointless.  He suspected their enemy would retreat in his stronghold, licking his wounds. It meant that they had a good chance on peace – at least for a while. It meant as well that he had to find out what he wanted to do with his life next.

He reached in the dark for his nightshirt which had been taken out by his armour bearer some time before. No need to sleep in his clothes tonight, not like so many nights before. But as he stretched his arm to take it, his hand hesitated, and drifted to his dagger instead. He kept them ever within reach, a long soldier’s life causing him to be restless without his weapons close. The black and silver dagger was sharp, he knew. He felt the almost unnoticeable scars in the palm of his left hand. Long ago it seemed now, that the dagger had left his marks there. He moved the blade up, sliding, pushing over his arm, gasping as he felt the cut. Tears were falling from his eyes, the salty water burning the open skin. The throbbing pain of his leg did not lessen by the sensation, and neither did it help the loneliness.  This could not be the solution, there should be another way. It was probably the first time he ever felt convinced of that himself.  When he laid the dagger down, he could not stop the tears or the shaking. And slowly reclining back on his mattress in the dark, he cried desperately for what was and what could have been.

 


	14. Fever

As morning came, the camp slowly started to wake.

Gildor stepped out of the tent that he shared with the men of his platoon. Rubbing his eyes, he looked around him. The fires of the last night were still lowly burning and here and there a drunk man was sleeping off his intoxication.

He started to walk over to the center square to find himself some breakfast, when he saw Elenluin’s armour bearer hastily crossing towards the healer’s tents. He had apparently spotted Gildor and changed course. “Sir, do you know where I can find the Lord Elrond? He is not in his own quarters”

“No, I haven’t seen him around. What is the matter?”

“My lord Elenluin bade me to find him, Master Elrond took care of his wound yesterday, but now he burns with fever.” The worried expression on the face of the young one told Gildor that they should not lose time.  “Come, let’s see where he is.”

They found the master of Imladris quickly enough in the healer’s tent and Gildor took him quietly apart, telling him that apparently Elenluin had developed a fever overnight and asked him to come.

Elrond only sighed and nodded upon the news, he gave some quick instructions to the other healers, and put the boy to work before he joined Inglorion, walking to the smith’s tent. When they reached it, Elrond pensively asked “Gildor, could you take over command from Elenluin for a few days? I would like him to take some rest. I will talk to the King about it before council this afternoon, if you agree.”

“Certainly, my lord, send me a message when you expect me to attend the meeting.” Inglorion was not planning to enter the tent with Elrond. But before he left, he hesitated for a moment “Lord Elrond, I do not know what is going on, but if there is anything I can do, let me know. If it is all right with you, I would like to come back to Lord Elenluin tonight, to discuss the further actions of our troops, and maybe as well to keep him company. I know he will not be pleased to say the least, knowing that the enemy escaped.”

Elrond smiled, “Gildor, I will first have a look at how he is doing, and let you know if he is able to have you over tonight. But I appreciate your concern, thank you for the kind offer.” 

With a nod Inglorion left and went back to their common tents, where the various captains were already assembling to give him a briefing on their losses and status of their troops.

 

As Elrond entered Elenluin’s tent, he found him shivering on his bed. He knelt at his side, and carefully brushed a strand of wet black hair from the smith’s forehead, feeling his temperature. He was burning with fever.

Elenluin’s eyes fluttered open upon the touch. “I’m sorry for yesterday my friend, you have every reason to tell me ‘I told you so’.” His voice was hoarse and it seemed to take him effort even to simply speak.

Elrond shook his head, “Hush, it is of no importance, I as well should have known better. All that matters now is to get you well again, in every respect.” And the kind regard in his eyes as he spoke those words, made that Elenluin even in his fevered state realised that the other meant what he said. He wordlessly nodded, closing his eyes again for he felt too weak to keep them open. But Elrond did not allow him to sleep just yet, he hoisted him into a more upright position, giving him something to drink. “This will make you a bit drowsy, but it will help against the pain and should diminish the fever.”

After that, he carefully examined his leg wound, which was as good as it could be only a day after being inflicted and seemed not to be the direct cause of infection. He replaced the bandage and a pensive look settled on his face.

Touching the smith’s cheek lightly to draw his attention he softly said “Elenluin, can I take a look at your arms? I promise I will not speak of it, but I need to check if any of those wounds is causing this fever. You are weakened by yesterday’s blood loss, and it might be that another smaller wound is now causing an infection that your body cannot overcome.”

A barely perceivable nod was all he got in response. But as he carefully touched the right lower arm of the smith, he felt how the other had to restrain himself from pulling away. Cautiously his fingers traced the cuts, while he gently held Elenluin’s wrist. They appeared to be a few weeks old, and it looked like someone had even taken care of them at some point, scar tissue was starting to form, nothing to worry about there.

Then he took the other arm. This was an entirely different story.

He saw the fresh cuts, the barely clotted blood. And he found wounds that were clearly old but still open, covered with yellow pus.  Here was definitely a source of infection. He lightly laid his hand on Elenluin’s shoulder. “I will have to get some items from the healers’ tent, Elenluin, these need to be taken care of. I will be back in a minute.” Only the slightest of reactions followed and told him that the other was still conscious.

When he had come back from his hasty errand and had started cleaning the injuries, the tent opened once again behind him. Startled he turned around, wondering who had entered without asking. He should not have been surprised to find Ereinion Gil-Galad standing there, silently watching him. He quietly turned back to his work, he needed his focus on his task. Carefully he probed and cleaned the open wounds and saw that there were parts that were too infected to leave to heal on their own. Again, he touched Elenluin’s shoulder. “Elenluin, do you hear me?”

The other gave a small nod.

“I will have to cut away some of the infected tissue, I will not have to cut very deep, but if I don’t remove it, it will keep on festering. If you want, I can get you something to sleep during the process.” Elenluin’s eyes opened, and Elrond was glad to see that they seemed to burn less than before, the syrup must be working.

“No, do it now, Elrond, and get it over with, I will try to keep still.”

At that point Gil-Galad, who had been quietly waiting and watching from the side, stepped closer and knelt next to the bed. “I will hold you, do not fear.” And as Ereinion’s strong trusted hands held the smith down, Elrond took out his sharp blades and cut the infected tissue away.

 

Elrond put away his healer’s tools when the arm was properly bandaged. “You will have to rest, my friend, at least for one or two weeks. Something like this will take some time to heal and I want to keep a close eye on that infection. I have asked Gildor to take command of our east wing in your place for now, maybe he should continue to do so for the next days, if you agree Gil-Galad?”

The King nodded slowly, “I indeed think that might be wise. Give yourself some time Elenluin.”

The smith looked at his friends that were now standing next to him. “‘T is not as if I have any choice.  If the two of you decide to keep me here, then I will stay, I know that much. But I will not resist, I agree that I need some time to rest.”

“I need to go now,” Ereinion spoke, “council is starting in half an hour, but I will pass by before diner. Elrond, I will need you there too. We will have to start discussing with Ciryatur on the retreat.”

Elrond nodded “I will ask your armour bearer to pass by every hour Elenluin, if there’s anything, send him to me. Unless you would rather be brought to the healers’ tents?”

“No, leave me here, I will try to sleep.”


	15. Darkness

_He groans. Pain, pain everywhere, a sense of movement. They are taking him somewhere._

_Blackness again, utter darkness.  Pain as he hits the ground. He tries to open his eyes, moves his head. Cannot suppress the nausea, vomits but nothing comes. His hands are asleep but he cannot move.  Cannot open his eyes fully._

_Laughter, vile laughter. Yrch._

_Dragging him by his arms, the pain red hot everywhere.  He does not scream, must not make a noise._

_All the time, darkness, no light._

_They hang him in chains, left arm awkward. Fleetingly a thought materializes in his confused mind, his shoulder must have been dislocated or broken with the blow that hit his head and surrendered him into their hands._

_It is of no importance how it happened, all that is left is pain_

_Pain, more pain. The sharp sting of the whip, time after time after time again. Questions, he does not even understand them anymore.  All he knows is that he must not make a noise, must not talk._

_Red hot iron against his back. More laughter. ‘Smith’ he hears in their foul words, ‘Smith, how do you like your fire now.’_

_Must not. Must. Not. Talk._

_Darkness. A touch. It will start again. He screams now, screams again, hits the arm that touches him to take him back to the chains._

“Auch! Elenluin! Elenluin! _” A voice from far away “_ It is well, all is well”

As he slowly opened his eyes, he saw only light filtering through canvas. He started shivering and involuntarily recoiled from the hand that he saw approaching at the corner of his eye. Quickly he moved his arms, protecting his head for the blows to come. Behind him a melodious voice, filled with pity, started to talk.

“Shh, it was a nightmare, only a dream.”

Slowly, he felt himself return to the world. He took a look at his bandaged arms, felt the stabbing pain in his leg and finally realised who he was again, where he was.

“I am sorry, I hope I did not hurt you.” He whispered.

As he turned his head towards his visitor, he saw Inglorion wryly smiling, rubbing his wrist “You did not exactly caress my arm no, but it is not important. That bad eh? The nightmares?”

He only nodded, there were no words to describe the dreams. And there was no way that he would let anyone know how much worse reality had been.

“I am sorry, can you let in some fresh air, Gildor?” The heat in the tent was of no importance to him, what he really needed to see, was that little patch of grey sky. And while Inglorion opened the flap of the tent, he allowed himself to recline back onto his bed. Still shivering, he tried his best to let go of the memory, to hide, burry it deep inside him.

“Are you sure you will not be cold? I would not want master Elrond to chastise me for making you worse than you are already.” Good old Gildor, always trying to make others laugh, even in circumstances as awkward as these.  

Obliging, Elenluin managed a small smile. “Do not worry, I will not tell him. So why did you come?”

“You heard that Elrond asked me to take over command for a while? So I came to bring you the latest reports, I know how much you must hate it having to stay here.” Gildor paused, “and I came to see how you are as well. Thought you might want some company and Elrond was so good to allow me to pass by. Tell me though if you don’t feel well enough, I think our master healer would kill me if I overexcited you.”

“Thanks, my friend, I appreciate it. Tell me all about what was discussed in council.”

And as they started going through the events of the day, Elenluin felt his mind calm down.

After Gildor had left, more than an hour later, he was exhausted once again.

Ereinion had passed by shortly after and with one look his brother had seen how things were, speaking only to say that he would go and fetch Elrond.  The king then had quietly bid him good night, but as he had walked out of the tent he had lingered for a moment, hesitating as if there was more to say. In the end he had turned away without speaking and left, but not before Elenluin had seen the sadness that was hidden in those piercing grey eyes.

He did not complain when the master healer told him that he would give him something against the pain for the night so he would be able to sleep. He had already suspected that his second in command had had a word with his brother and Elrond, and that they were aiming to give him some hours of dreamless rest. For once, he did not protest, and hoped that the medicine would work.

 


	16. The Ride to Imladris

Time passed and they finally were ready to break up camp. Ciryatur’s main might was returning to Numenor, but before he left, he had requested permission of Gil-Galad to expand their settlements on the coast further south of Lond Daer, as the war had destroyed many of the forests that had previously provided both Tharbad and the great haven with timber. And Gil-Galad had agreed to that, he knew his population was too sparse to hold the whole land anyway.  He had sent the Admiral home with promises of friendship and alliance with the men of Numenor, and an invitation to Tar-Minastir to visit.

The King himself, together with Elrond and a small group of leaders, was planning to head for Imladris instead of returning to Lindon right away. They had called council with the different fractions that still inhabited these lands and to Galadriel, Cirdan and the kings of Greenwood and Lórinand messages had been sent. They would meet at Midsummer’s day in Elrond and Celeborn’s refugee camp and Elenluin would join them. His wounds had healed, but Elrond did not want him to take up command just yet. He had insisted that the commander needed time without responsibilities, to be at ease for a while before he went back to his old life. So it was Inglorion who directed the main Elven armed forces back to Lindon together with some of Elenluin’s trusted captains, while their leader followed the King on his route north along the Bruinen with Elrond’s contingent.

They had ridden for a few days through the spring rains when in the evening Elrond found Elenluin staring into the cloudy night, at the edge of their camp.

“What are you looking at, Elenluin?”

“I cannot see Celebdil. Her white peak used to reflect the stars.” The answer was only a whisper.

“You have never been back.”

Elenluin seemed to hesitate in his reply. “No, and I wonder if I should have traveled there, following the Glanduin instead of coming here with you…”

“My friend, I think you would find the lands much changed, even in this short time.” Elrond grimaced. When his army had driven the enemy back toward Tharbad, they had found that Sauron’s Yrch had burnt down the whole realm of Eregion. Not too many of the famous holly trees were left now, and all the meadows and fields had been scorched.

“Still, I want to – no - I _will_ go back.  Not now, but perhaps after all this is done, after Ereinion has held his council, I will.” Elenluin turned around, and Elrond was caught by surprise to see that traces of tears marked his face, as his voice had not betrayed his emotions “One day, you will have to tell me where you buried them.”

And Elrond Peredhel could not do anything but nod, “That I will master Smith, that I will, but not tonight, not now. Let’s go back to the light of the fire, it is too dark out here and you need to dry your clothes.” And laying his hand on the other’s shoulder, he guided him back, away from the darkness.

The next morning, when riding at the back of the small convoy, he mentioned it to Gil-Galad.

“He told me that he wishes to go back to Eregion. I think it is not a bad thing, he somehow starts to be able to talk about it at least to me as well now. I think you were right Gil-Galad, he has never taken the time for his own healing, he kept on going until now.”

“I am well aware why I asked you to help me in keeping him from his responsibilities. He has always been so dutiful, cared for none but the greater good and has handled all the perilous tasks others did not want to engage on. He has had no small part in the success of this campaign, yet he does not want to accept anything in return. The only thing I can do is to support him through this. And yes, I agree, it might help him to go back where this started, when we are done, finally.” Gil-Galad sighed, and Elrond knew he was tired. Something was on his mind, he thought, something that prevented him to rest.

“Have you stayed up all night again, my King?”

None of them had to sleep very often, and they all avoided it when in unsafe conditions, but they had to rest none the less. The campaign had been hard on their horses up till the battle at Tharbad so they had chosen now not to travel through the nights but rather make camp, since there was no need for speed.  So far, the journey had been relatively uneventful. They had met bands of orcs now and then, but it mostly were small scattered groups and were easily defeated by Elrond’s platoons and the King’s guard. Most men were relaxing now, singing and sleeping through the night.  Still it seemed that the King himself did not want to take pause from his long waking and Elrond was worried.  He knew that on the evenings that Gil-Galad was not playing chess with him, he would spend the time talking to Elenluin or working till late at night. When he had tried to ask for the reason of him not taking any rest, the King avoided to answer, saying that there was a lot to organise and that things would become clearer at the council.

As they approached the valley, Gil-Galad had become more and more silent. When Elrond would look for him, he would find him pensively watching the burnt fields or listening to something Elenluin was softly saying. They would stop talking whenever he approached though, and he could not guess what their conversation was about.

After weeks of travelling, they finally entered the hidden camp. And as Elrond crossed the bridge of the Bruinen, he realised it felt as if he finally came home again.

 


	17. In the valley

Gil-Galad looked around him, it had been nearly three years since he had last visited Imladris, and he could see that Elrond had left his mark on the valley. He smiled, no longer was this a refugee encampment, nor a war station as it had been in its early days. It had transformed into something that resembled a large and pleasant house, albeit with strong fortifications around it. There were people working the land here, while others were building sheds for the cattle. And far away he thought he heard the echo of a hammer on steel.  The place was as alive as any village in times of peace, and his heart rejoiced.  Despite all what had happened in the outside world, they had been able to preserve some places of peace and tranquility, protected from danger.

As they approached the entrance of the house, he was pleased to see a tall silver haired elf approaching.

“Celeborn, my friend, good to see you here!” and as he dismounted his horse, he clasped hands with the one that had stayed behind to ensure the defense of the valley.

“Well met, my King. Everything has been prepared for your arrival, we had word you were on your way. I had messages as well from some of the others, we expect all will be arriving before midsummer’s day.” Celeborn’s eyes were shining with anticipation, and Gil-Galad remembered he had probably not seen his Lady for many years, as she dwelled with their daughter elsewhere, while Celeborn had stayed around Imladris helping Elrond to establish the refugee camp after the fall of Ost-in-Edhil.

He smiled, “off course, thank you. If you can just have someone show us the way.”

Elrond interrupted, “I will show you, my Lord.” And as he eagerly led forward, Gil-Galad understood, it was his house here. He followed the master of the valley – for that was how he seemed to be known by those that dwelled here – through the large gates.

“My Lord Gil-Galad, Elenluin, this way, I have had your quarters arranged at a quieter corner of the house. They are located at the end of a hallway that can easily be closed off if needed, while still having free access to the outside. I am planning a rose garden there, the soil seems fit.  Elenluin, you will have a view on the falls, I know how much you like to be close by water.” Elrond bustled ahead, kept on talking, and Ereinion thought he seemed slightly nervous.

He smiled, how much this reminded him of his first encounters with the little half-elven brothers. They had been chattering all the time back then, boldly asking questions and had been eager to please their new acquaintances. If anything, their seven years with the Feanorians had made them confident and courageous little elflings, Maglor had seen to that.  But when they had realised that they would be transferred from one guardian to another, they had lost their balance and the boys withdrew within themselves after a few days. 

So it came that there had been plenty of meetings and discussions between Cirdan, Maedhros, Maglor and himself on how to assure that they did not suffer too much from the change, allowing them to wander between the two camps at any time as far as safety allowed it. Through his conversations, he had understood why Maglor had brought them to him. It was not as he had first suspected to get rid of the children that had become a burden now that they were no longer useful as hostages. The bard was nothing if not intelligent and it seemed he surrendered them to the High king because he feared that strife between the different elven fractions would rekindle beyond the early days of war and he did not want his charges to get caught up in that.

On one of those meetings, Maglor had told him that they did not seem to remember much from before being taken at Sirion. They had no recollection of their father, and only a vague memory of their mother, he had said, and had added with a pained expression that they did fully remember what had happened when they were captured. As Gil-Galad got to know the twins better, he found it to be true. When talking to Elros and Elrond he was surprised to learn that even despite this, they still admired the Feanorians somehow.  And he realised that Maedhros and Maglor had tried to give them not only the shelter and education that was required, but love as well.

The harsh sons of Feanor had truly tried to take care of them in Amon Ereb, after the long flight. It must have been a hard place to grow up, but Maedhros and Maglor had managed to not only keep them alive, but even fairly happy. The boys had continued to have a harsh youth when brought to live into the war encampment, with no other children around and only warriors to talk to, but there had been no other option. He had taken them into his tent, had cared for them as a father would have, despite the fact that he was not that much past his majority himself. It was something that all those that had been young at the war of Wrath had in common, they had matured far before their age. He looked to Elenluin who was walking beside him, one of the few that had been there with him. He had since then survived more grief than any of their forefathers would have deemed possible, somehow their early experiences had made them harder, more resilient. And turning his attention back to the one that was now so happily talking about how he had built this house, Gil-Galad knew it had not all ended bad. 

As they progressed through the hallways, he realised Elrond had arranged rooms for the Smith close by, and was glad for it. He needed some advice on what he was going to propose to the council of wise, and there was hardly anyone here whom he trusted enough to talk it through. They had touched upon some of the topics already in their nightly conversations in the past weeks, but he had not dared talk the essence of things out in the open fields.

When they opened the double doors that were closing off the corridor, he could not help noticing that they were perfectly suited to be watched by his guard. Further down the hall, he saw two doors each on one side of the hallway. Upon opening the first one, Elrond bid Elenluin to enter. As the smith walked straight to the small balcony that had indeed a view on the waterfall, Gil-Galad watched approvingly from the entrance.  Leaving the Smith behind to settle, Elrond beckoned him to the other side, showing him proudly what was behind the second door “My Lord, these are yours.” As Gil-Galad entered and looked around him, he noticed it were practical and comfortable rooms, even if there was little decoration present and furniture was sparse. There was a desk in what he assumed had to become a study, a separate living room and a simple bedchamber that had a magnificent view on the mountains outside. He noticed the start of woodcarvings on the inside of the door, a star similar to the one on his banner, and smiled.  He could see how it would be if their master was given some more time. “It is wonderful Elrond, I am amazed with what you managed to do to this place in such a short time and difficult circumstances.”

The other one was beaming, “Those who remained behind did what they could while the men were fighting, since they could not get out of the valley anyway.  I must say some of the wounded were of a great help. You remember young Erestor? He has proven himself quite a good planner and organizer in this whole business, and he loves to manage things like these. I have asked him to stay for a while, he does an excellent job in running this household. In any case, I’m glad you like it, make sure you tell them too.”

Gil-Galad smiled, “off course I will. Thank you, Elrond, for everything… I really appreciate the thought and planning that has gone behind this.” And embracing him, he knew he had not been so proud and happy in a long time. He was more and more confident with every passing day that what he was going to put forward at council was the right thing.


	18. Smith

As Elenluin looked over the valley, enjoying the view and distant sound of the thundering waterfall, he noticed that his balcony was not floating above the reclining slope as he initially had thought, but that there were a few stairs down, to ground level.

When he looked further in the distance he saw another smaller building, no more than a shed, from which smoke emerged. As he watched, he heard a familiar noise of metal striking metal. The forge. They had placed it at the river side, he even saw they had dug a channel to deviate the stream a little, having water supply always close.

He hesitated for a moment. Far away the talking of Elrond and Gil-Galad could still be heard, but he knew they would not expect him before dinner and somehow he felt a tug to his heart, to go and explore what was there. So he quietly stepped down, and started walking.

The weather had changed, and where everything had looked gray and gloomy the days before, now the sun was highlighting the colours of nature. From the spring-green grass to the sapphire blue river, all seemed exceptionally bright. He squinted his eyes to shut out the sunbeams as he walked through the wild meadow. When he approached the barn, he stopped in the shadow of a tree, softly patting the neck of the horse that was tied up there.

He did not see anything but the fire at first, when he entered the small shed. But as his eyes got used to the darkness, he could discern an anvil and some tools and he observed how a young elf was hammering a horseshoe into shape. He watched attentively, taking care not to block the light from the door. As the farrier was moving towards the water basin for cooling down the shoe, he softly stopped him: "take care, your left angle is still slightly too steep. I assume this is for one of the front legs?"

The other one looked up with a steady gaze, then walked out, fitted the hot shoe to the horse and critically watched his piece of work. Coming back in, he briefly nodded. He started hammering the shoe again for some time before then finally he deemed it good enough and quenched the iron. Laying down his tongs, he removed his gloves and started to speak "You were right, thank you. What errand brings you here? I have not seen you around?"

"I have only just arrived from the South with Lord Elrond's troops. It has been a while since I last was here in the valley and find it much changed." Elenluin smiled. "Do you think you could use a hand with the other shoe, while you fit this one on?"

The farrier smiled back and waved with his hand to a corner, "You can find an apron and some utensils in that corner, show me what you can, stranger, as it seems you are not unexperienced in this craft."

As Elenluin took up the tools and felt the weight of the hammer in his hand for the first time in years, he realised that it felt good to hold it once again. He started his work, carefully, deliberately. His mind was focused on what he had always considered an easy task, but one that he would execute with as much precision as when working on any of the magnificent swords he had ever made. Once one of his apprentices had asked why he had to aim for perfection on polishing the surface of something that could never be seen, and he had answered "because you will know it is there". In essence, that was still how he thought about the work he was doing. It needed to be more than just good, it needed to be as perfect as he could get it, because every time the horse would pass, he would think of the shoe that he just had fitted.

Nailing the iron to the horse, he saw the other elf now observing him. "You are no simple farrier like me, are you? I have never seen an iron as exactly fitting like this before."

"I am a smith, as you are, no more. It has been a while since I last practiced my craft, but if you would allow me, I'd be glad to come and assist you now and then, while I am here." And without words the elf nodded. It was allowed. They continued their work in silence till the sun was nearly setting and as he left, Elenluin shook the other's hand with a promise to be back one of the next days.

He pensively walked back to his rooms through the wild fields. He had found back something today that he had thought lost. The simple joy of easy physical work that kept hands occupied while the mind was free to wander. He took a deep breath before he started to climb the few stairs that led to his own balcony as he realised he had discovered anew who he was. Despite all that happened, he was a smith and always would be.

 


	19. At the Banks of the Bruinen

The evening meal proved to be much like the rest in Elrond’s house, simple food prepared in a way that made them feel at home at once.

After, they were free to do as they pleased. Elrond had showed them a great hall with colonnades at both sides where a fire was burning and had told them that this was where the refugees would gather, talk and sing in the evening. But Ereinion Gil-Galad did not want to be inside on a beautiful night as this. He went out and walked one of the small paths that had formed between the house and the river. Many others had had the same idea it seemed, and everywhere he saw people singing and talking, so he continued to go further, searching for a quiet place where no one would disturb him. As he approached the Bruinen, he found silence. Before him, he now only saw one familiar figure lying on his back near the river, staring to the darkening sky.

He silently sat himself down next to the black haired smith. For a long time they remained quiet. It was only when the stars of the Valacirca reached the highest point that Elenluin started to speak.

“I went to the smithy today. I will go back tomorrow.”

Startled Ereinion turned to him, “You did? Good. And you will have more than enough time I think, from what I heard at dinner Celeborn is expecting the rest of the company tomorrow and the day after. We will probably be caught up in council for days.”

Elenluin did not move, stared still to the stars above as he answered “the young one that works there can use some help, and some guidance I believe. I will not be wasting my time.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “I wonder if I will last the full day there though, I probably should start with a few hours.”

“How are you feeling my friend?” Ereinion looked pensively at the smith. He knew most of his wounds had healed in the past weeks, and between him and Elrond they had somehow successfully kept him from doing further harm to himself. They had tried to be there in dark moments, stayed at his side and attempted to direct his thoughts elsewhere when things became difficult.  Still, he realised that they would have not been able to do so if the smith had not willed it himself.

He had spent many nights on their journey here talking to this one that he had considered his little brother ever since they had met as mere elflings - Elenluin nearly eight, he himself just twenty seven, both abandoned by a world that was shedding unnumbered tears for those that had perished. It was so long ago since they had roamed the isle of Balar together, and through time they had not always stayed that close. Elenluin’s stay in Eregion had driven them apart, in pure distance, but as well and even more in how they thought. So many mistakes had been made by both of them in those long years. Time could not be turned back. He was simply glad that since the city’s fall they had rediscovered their old friendship, that unbreakable bond between brothers. And he had realised again that the one that was now quietly resting next to him was still the one that he would trust with his most unguarded thoughts and deepest uncertainties, as he had when they were very young.

He woke up from his thoughts by the answer of the smith.

“So tired, more tired than ever. It is becoming worse every day, rather than better.”

“Elrond told me that it is probably normal, you have been going on for so long that he believes you will need some time to recover now that the continuous hunt is over.” Gil-Galad paused, he was uncertain on how to continue. Four months, since Elenluin had first showed what was plaguing him in the study in Lindon, four months of battle and struggles, inside and out. And still the nightmares were there, still the man next to him would not dare sleep on most nights out of fear of what he would see. “You still do not sleep do you?”

“Not unless Elrond makes me, no.” Elenluin had opened his eyes again and a smile crossed his face “or unless you play your harp, somehow it always makes me fall asleep, not that I complain about your skills though.”

Gil-Galad laughed, he knew it was true. Elenluin always had calmed down when he had played in the evening. However his expression grew serious again within seconds. “Did you ever speak to anyone about what you see in your dreams, little one? I have never asked you before what you experience in those moments, though I can guess from what I saw and heard. But maybe it is time to talk about it. Maybe if you can voice them, the images will leave you alone.”

Sighing, the smith turned his gaze to the stars once more. Ereinion had to wait a long time for an answer. “I do not want to dwell on them when it is dark, I do not dare even think about it. Maybe when there is light outside, when the sun is shining and birds are singing. Maybe one day…” Gil-Galad saw him shiver involuntarily. “Have you decided what you will do Ereinion?  Will you give it to him?” a change of subject, to one that was as difficult as the previous one.

“I still don’t know. If I do I will place a burden upon him that will be heavy to bear.” It was the King’s turn to sigh now.

When Elenluin spoke again, he did so very quietly. “It is your decision, but I think it would be wise to give him the valley. To make him stay and have a second stronghold, here in the East.”

Gil-Galad nodded. They had been speaking about this for weeks now, and he agreed with Elenluin that it made more sense to keep Imladris, rather than attempt to rebuild Eregion. The city of Ost-in-Edhil was ruined by war and the lands around it had been scorched. Even if they could rebuild it, it would be hard to find elves who would wish to return to those lands. On top, the valley was easier to defend and its location was still hidden as far as they knew. After what he had seen in the past war, he felt confident that indeed Elrond would be the right person to hold Imladris.

But there was more. More that he had not dared talk with anyone up till today, more that he would not even bring forward in council tomorrow. More that he would only share with three other people in this world. As of tonight Elenluin would be one of them.

“There is something I have to tell you, my friend. Before Ost-in-Edhil fell, Celebrimbor sent me a gift.”  Silence fell as Gil-Galad did not know how and even if he should continue.

After some time, Elenluin responded unexpectedly. “I know Ereinion, and I have known it since the day you appeared at my side when I was lying wounded in a small tent in this valley. They somehow radiate their presence to those that can perceive. Do not forget that even though I never set eye on them, some of the knowledge needed to create them was mine.” Elenluin had turned himself away from him, looking to the waterfall glimmering in the starlight. “Fire I felt, my brother, fire to draw me back from the darkness, and a stormy wind that swept my mind clean, calmed my spirit down, before I could shut them out. So yes, I know what Celebrimbor sent you, and I regret the day he did.”

“How will we keep them safe then, when they can be perceived so easily? I never even wielded them.” Gil-Galad only whispered, not daring to think on what the consequences were of this discovery.

“Do as you did up till now, keep them hidden, do not use them and keep them secret. There are not many left who know or can notice, I think you need not fear. But why tell me now? Why did you choose to break the silence?”

Gil-Galad sighed “I need your advice. I am thinking on giving more than the valley to Elrond. Two is too much to keep in the same place, and who else could I better choose as a guardian for this object?”

Elenluin turned now back to the King, flames leaping in his dark eyes as he had rarely seen before. “I agree you should not keep both for the danger would be too great. But do not ask me to give you advice on where and when to send them.  Do not tell me where they will go in the end, brother, I do not wish to know. They have caused me too much grief as it is already.”

Gil-Galad studied the smith’s face. “Would you not know it regardless if I told you or not?”

“I might feel them when I am close, but I would not _know_ and to me that would make a difference. I am no princeling or king, no noble lord or wise man. I struggle to even be a simple warrior-smith, and I do not aspire to become anything else. So do not burden me with knowledge I do not need.” The fires in his eyes diminished until only darkness remained “please,” he added with a whisper, “do not involve me in these matters.”

Ereinion looked the smith in the eyes. “I will not brother, I did not realise how you would feel about this, I promise, I will not speak of this again unless there is some dire need.”

They spent the remainder of the night silently watching the stars until at dawn they both returned to their rooms. And when Gil-Galad got ready for the arrival of more guests and the start of the council, Elenluin started his morning routine. Ignoring his tiredness, he went for a run and sword practice.

 


	20. The Golden Lord

As Cirdan approached the training grounds, he found Elenluin exercising.  The smith completed some of the standard figures with extreme precision and it occurred to the grey bearded elf that he was doing so left handed, rather than with his usual right. He could not keep himself from admiring this young one’s skill and control. Focused on the drill, Elenluin did not look up to his spectators, nor did he notice that he had brought another elf with him.

When the smith had fully completed the routine, he wiped the sweat from his brow and seemed to turn his attention to his observers. “Cirdan, how on earth did Ereinion make you leave your shipyards? I am glad to see you here!”  Elenluin walked over to the edge of the field and reached out over the barrier that had been raised around the training ground.

Warmth showed in the old shipwright’s eyes as he greeted him with a smile and clasped his outstretched hand. “Greetings, Elenluin, good to see you came out of this war unharmed. You know that Ereinion can be quite persuasive if he wants to be.” 

 “I do. You just arrived today? Maybe you can introduce me to your companion, I think we have not met yet.”

The elf that had come with him had stayed respectfully at a distance. Cirdan couldn’t help noticing again that he was exceptionally tall, taller even than Elenluin, who was no small man even to the standards of the Noldor. His hair was golden, and in his grey eyes a light seemed to be shining.

“Glorfindel” the Golden Lord interrupted before he could answer, in a clear ringing voice. “and you must be Elenluin of Hithlum, Lord Cirdan told me that you serve the Lord Gil-Galad as his chief military advisor.”

“I am and I did, but not now.” Cirdan saw curiosity arising in Elenluin on who this really was, for he must have recognized the name out of tales. But when he heard what the smith was saying, he looked at him with some surprise, “No more Elenluin? How come?”

The smith looked at him with dark eyes, “If I still was, I would not be lingering here but it would be me accompanying our troops home, instead of Gildor. No, Cirdan, Lord Elrond and Ereinion seem to have decided that I need some time off from my duties, and I will not defy them.” A warning almost radiated from Elenluin not to probe further so he did not ask, but Cirdan made a note to himself to talk matters with Ereinion before long.

“Still you are found here, in the practice field.” It was no question, just a simple observation.

“I am. Despite lacking a partner to spar, with Gildor out and my brother caught up in his councils, I still like to execute these drills. Besides, I lack skill with this left hand and who knows when I will need it.”

“Brother?” Glorfindel asked curiously. Elenluin just smiled in return and sheathed his sword. Clearly the golden haired elf would not get any further explanation. “You know, if you are looking for a partner to spar,” Glorfindel added, “I would be happy to join you, at the times when the High King does not need me at council. It has been long since I had a proper opponent to exercise with.”

“Of course you can. Just come when you are ready. If you do not find me here, you can most likely find me in the smithy.”

Cirdan refrained from commenting on this, though he was puzzled as he knew that the smith had not dared enter the forge before.  So they said their goodbyes, leaving Elenluin alone again. Going back to the halls where lunch was waiting, he pondered that there were many things he needed to discuss with Ereinion.

As they slowly walked the paths to the house, Glorfindel started to speak.

“Who is this man Cirdan? You know him well I believe?”

“I do, and I should, as he grew up in my care. His father was a Noldo of Fingon’s host. Herunim served in the King’s personal guard before he perished in the Nirnaeth. The boy was sent to the island not long after, as his mother had faded rapidly after her husband’s death. One of the many refugee children we received at that time. And as they were about the same age, Ereinion somehow grew close to him. I had my hands full with those two.” Cirdan smiled at the memories. “However, if you ask people now whom he is, they will either answer indeed that he is Gil-Galad’s war lord, as he served in that role during the War of Wrath and many years after, or tell you that he was one of the key members of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain.”

Glorfindel looked surprised “In Eregion? He dwelled with Celebrimbor? He does not look like a smith.”

Cirdan cast him a serious look, “Many things have happened since and he has suffered greatly. He is a talented man though, and we will see what he will do now that the world has changed once again. I think you will like him.”

 

That evening rain had started falling again and the company assembled in Elrond’s great hall of fire. People were singing and playing music, and song after song followed. At a certain point, a moment of silence fell. Elenluin, who had been patiently waiting for this had brought his flute to the hall. He would not sing, but he longed to play a song that he could not get out of his head on this day, triggered by the name the golden haired elf had called himself. It was an old song, one that had been sung at the havens of Sirion by the refugees of Gondolin, a song of which some said that it was of Turgon’s hand, who had mourned for his brother. And even though this time victory had been sweet, his heart longed to hear a lament between all the joyous songs. As he nodded to a harper that sat close by, the elf started the accompaniment they had agreed on. Whispers were silenced as he played the haunting melody. However, it was when a voice full of emotions joined the flute halfway through the song in an unlikely duet, that they became the center of all attention.

_‘Oh Light,_

_You may weep._

_Laugh no more._

_For the heart,_

_Once so glad,_

_Now feels_

_it will break_

_in grief’(*)_

 

As they finished, Elenluin bowed his head to Glorfindel in gratitude for joining the song. There was no doubt in his mind anymore on who this golden haired warrior was. For a moment, there was silence in the hall of fire, until another voice took up where they had left it and started a merrier song of the summer sun.

He walked out then to one of the porches near to the hall, his mind still too filled with his own melody to focus on the joyous songs that arose now. Glorfindel seemed to have followed in a similar mood and together they silently watched the rain falling down.

“You have come to serve Turgon’s house?” it was the closest he dared inquire on the identity of the golden Lord. He did not expect him to answer, and was surprised when the other turned to him, replying: “Yes, I have. I will follow wherever the Lord Elrond will go.” A pause fell in the conversation, until Glorfindel spoke again. “Cirdan told me you were a man of many talents, Elenluin, I see now what he meant.”

Elenluin smiled, his earlier dark mood forgotten for a moment “Cirdan is always boasting about us, Lord Glorfindel, you will find out that he is very proud of all his fosterlings, and I assure you, there are many.”

“Yet I think he is right. Can I join you tomorrow in the training grounds? I heard the rest of the company will only arrive by noon, and I would like to use the time to acquaint myself with some of the newer techniques.”

Elenluin nodded, “I will be there just after dawn, after that I have promised the smith here to go and help him fix a number of items.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*) “Lumi potete piangere” Giovanni Legrenzi (1675) - there is a wonderful version available on youtube of L’arpeggiata with Philippe Jaroussky and Nuria Real. Original text: Lumi potete piangere //Non riderete più //Il cor, Che lieto fu //Nel duol si sente a frangere


	21. Midsummer Night

Aulë! Why did it not work? He was fine as long as he was just doing simple things, making horseshoes, repairing shields, removing dents out of a sword, but as soon as he started on something more complex, it never came out of the fire as he wanted.  He knew he was not doing anything wrong as such, and his work was good enough by the standards of the smith he was assisting, but somehow he couldn’t find the natural flow that was needed to reach perfection. As the afternoon passed on, he decided to call it a day. There was no use in getting more frustrated than he already was, and the midsummer festivities that Elrond had so carefully prepared had probably started by now.

He felt too tired and weary to go, but knew Ereinion would not allow him to stay behind on this day. He was well capable of coming to search for him himself when he would not turn up quickly. Overprotective mother hen, he had called him once, though he knew that he had given enough reason recently to justify his brother’s behavior. But he hated these festivities, he never felt more alone than when surrounded by hundreds of people who all were happy and expected him to be so as well.

It had been different, once. When his son would jump the fires with the young ones on midsummer night, when he would spend the days beforehand in the kitchen instead of his forge, preparing food together with Elianna for friends that would visit. Ereinion wanted him to be happy, wanted to recreate the joy they had had celebrating together in their youth in Balar. It was not possible, he could not just erase the memories of the time passed in Eregion, of three hundred fifty years of happy marriage.

He had just washed himself in his room, when he heard an impatient knock on the door. Sighing, a towel still in his hands and dreading the sight of his brother, he went to open it. He was mildly surprised to find Cirdan instead, standing in the hallway.

“You are ready?” the shipwright did not ask for permission and just stepped in.

“Almost. Let me guess, Ereinion sent you when he did not find me?”

Cirdan nodded, “You should have expected that, my boy, he wants you close on this day.”

“I just wish he would leave me alone.” Sadness was in his eyes. With Cirdan, there was no need to hide his feelings, there never had been.

The shipwright sat himself down on the edge of his bed while the smith picked a tunic that was festive enough for the occasion. “Elenluin, what are you afraid of? Why do you hide here? Ereinion tells me you have hardly talked to anyone since you arrived, aside from the young smith that is working in the forge. He was even surprised that you were present in the hall yesterday.”

He sank on the bed as well, staring at the healing scars as he started putting on his arm protection. It was hard to precisely formulate what he felt but Cirdan remained silent and waited patiently. Hesitantly he spoke “If you must know, I am afraid of seeing their faces. I am afraid of the accusing glances because I lived while so many others did not.”

“My boy, it is not your fault that they died, nor is it of your own choice that you live. Amongst those that dwell here who once knew you, none will hold that against you. Elenluin, I am very grateful that you are still alive, and so is Ereinion.” Cirdan rose as he spoke further: “Come, we go, they are waiting for us. And if it can make things easier, take your flute with you. I am sure there will be a place for one player more in tonight’s band. Come, my boy, Ereinion is waiting.”

Elenluin felt that he had no choice in the matter, but at the same time appreciated the suggestion of going to the musicians instead of having to converse all evening with all the Lords and Ladies present, so he quickly grabbed his flute and followed the shipwright out.

They walked to the front of the house together and heard music already playing as they approached. The scene was beautiful, Elenluin had to admit that Elrond had outdone himself. Coloured ribbons were tied to the trees, garlands of flowers were woven through the backs of the rough wooden chairs that were placed around tables filled with food. Scattered around the whole area between the house and the bank of the Bruinen were piles of wood, indicating where the fires would be lighted when the sun finally went down tonight. Everywhere people were talking, enjoying the sunny evening together, some sitting at the tables, others even playing games it seemed.

And amidst it all, he saw Ereinion towering above his company, laughing at one or another joke. As he approached, he noticed the King was talking to Celeborn, who seemed exceptionally happy this day, and following his gaze, he found that Elrond and Glorfindel were conversing with the Lady Galadriel and a young elf maiden, with silver hair and silver eyes.

Cirdan steered him towards the group, and as he approached Ereinion greeted him in his usual loud voice “Ah, here you are, under which stone was he hiding, master shipwright?”

Before he could answer, Galadriel turned her attention to them, “Master Smith, it has been a while since we had last met.”

“Indeed, my Lady, it has been a long time.” Bowing at Galadriel, he thought that she was as proud and beautiful as ever. He noticed that her eyes were shining with joy, so unlike the last time he had seen her, a century ago, when she had come to visit Celebrimbor. Her silver-haired daughter politely greeted him as well. “Pleased to meet you again sir, I was young when we last parted, but I do remember you from one of our visits to Eregion. I hope that we find you well here in this beautiful valley. How fares your son? He must be all grown up now?”

Elenluin mustered all his self-control to keep smiling to the innocent girl, she could not know. He was spared from replying though by Elrond, who quickly stepped in, “My Lady, I was just planning to take a walk to the waterfalls, why don’t you join me there? In the meantime I can tell you what has happened here in these lands while you were dwelling elsewhere? I think the Lord Elenluin had something to discuss with my Lord King.” Elenluin saw Celeborn putting a hand on Galadriel’s arm, restraining her from saying something, and Celebrian, who seemed to have noticed that the question caused some tension, turned to Elrond, smiling radiantly, “I would love to, the waterfall is so beautiful.” And as he escorted the silver lady away from their group, Elrond shot him an apologetic glance. The silence that had fallen between the others after they had left, was broken by Glorfindel, whose eyes shone with unanswered questions. “So you brought your flute, Elenluin? Will you play?”

He was glad the golden haired elf had given him the chance to change subject. “I might, I will go and check if they can use an extra musician tonight, My Lords, Lady, I will see you later.” And with that he escaped. He saw that indeed a group of musicians had gathered below a magnificent oak tree and were playing merry tunes. They welcomed him enthusiastically, he quickly found his place amongst them. There he stayed, hiding in the shadows, listening and playing until the sun started to set.

\--

Ereinion and Cirdan shot each other a concerned glance as he left. In the meanwhile, Galadriel turned to her husband, her question unspoken. “His wife and son did not make it, they were both slain at the fall of the city.” Celeborn answered softly. She replied, a hard look in her eyes “At least we have a smith that has survived and seems to be well again, and not the least of them either. It is good to know that not all our knowledge was lost.”

Gil-Galad did not bother to answer. Galadriel would always remain the same, he thought.  She could seem cold to some, but he knew she had seen too much, lived through too much herself to be easily moved by the losses of others.  Instead he took his foster father apart, “Where did you find him Cirdan?”  
“Getting ready in his rooms, he expected you to come after him if he would not show up. He is frightened to face the refugees here. Don’t push him to participate if he doesn’t want to. Let him be close but alone.” Gil-Galad nodded pensively “I just had hoped that it would distract him a little to be with us, having some fun on this wonderful day.”

“Leave him be Ereinion, it is a difficult day for him.  He will find his way to us somewhere tonight, I do not doubt that.”

The evening continued merrily and Celebrian and Elrond did not return from their walk.  Just as Gil-Galad started to wonder if he should go and find them, he saw them approaching. She was vividly talking, her silver eyes sparkling in the last rays of the sun and Elrond was smiling as he intently listened. It had been a long time since he had seen the Peredhel so relaxed and carefree, and it made him smile too. “It seems, my Lady Galadriel that your daughter has a definite positive influence on the organizer of this feast.”

Celeborn smiled knowingly and answered before his wife, whom he was holding firmly in his arms, could reply. “I would say that the effect goes both ways, my Lord, I have not seen Celebrian so enthusiast in a long time.” Playfully Galadriel gave him a slap on his arm “You have not seen us for a long time at all, husband, but I agree, she seems to like the company.”

At that time the traditional hymns started, for the sun was setting and the climax of the festival was now very near.

_“Come down from the mountains, come leave your fountains, oh spirits so joyful and lovely tonight!_

_Come to these meadows and in sacred dances, let your fair feet delight!” (1)_

It was impossible to keep standing still when the joyous music sounded, and all drifted towards the heaps of wood that were built everywhere.

They scattered and regrouped, woman and men apart, young ones to the front and older to the back, according to ancient tradition. They went back to the Days of the Trees, when the festival would have had different meaning, but the music and the celebrations had stayed.  

Gil-Galad took his place in the middle of fires and noticed indeed, as Cirdan had predicted, that Elenluin had left the group of musicians and now was standing not far behind him. Elrond and Celebrian approached as well, and before the fair lady went to her own place amidst the young women, she swiftly stepped towards the smith. He heard her whisper “I am sorry for my inappropriate behavior earlier, my Lord, I understand now how grievous my question must have been for you. Please, accept my apologies.” The reply of the smith was inaudible to Gil-Galad, but he certainly understood better now why Elrond seemed totally mesmerized by this courageous lady. As she disappeared in the crowd, he beckoned the smith, who looked a shade too white to be good, to stand with him and gently put a hand on his shoulder. “It is almost over, Elenluin, and we are here, with you.”  All were silent now, watching the sun crossing the rim of the valley.

Letting go of his brother, the King then stepped forward into its last golden rays, arms outstretched to the sky and started reciting his verses, as custom required.

“Let all sorrow be left behind, let the light enter your hearts

Out of blackness brightness will come, out of cold warmth will spring forward,

When the fire returns, the darkness will flee. Let there be light!”

And at that torches were lighted and the fires started. As flames leapt out of the bonfires and the stars started to appear, the wild dancing and fire-jumping of the youths commenced. His task fulfilled for tonight, Gil-Galad turned around towards Elenluin, Cirdan and Elrond who were still standing right behind him. “I am glad you were all here with me this year, it has been too many centuries since I was last able to celebrate midsummer with my family.” He knew his grey eyes reflected the starlight, and he hoped that it would hide the tears of happiness that started to form from the ones he considered his brother, his father, his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)Free after Monteverdi’s Orfeo, ‘Lasciati I monti’ ~ “Lasciate i monti // Lasciate i fonti // Ninfe vezzos’e liete // E in questi prati // Ai balli usati // Vago il bel piè rendete.


	22. Council

The following days passed quickly, and as the Kings, Lords and Ladies sat in their council, Elenluin spent his time helping out in the valley. He worked in the smithy, lent a hand moving timber from the woodlands to the carvers, aided in tending the horses, helped in the garden. It felt good to stay occupied during the days, and to be tired in the evening. The farrier was progressing towards becoming a true smith under his tutelage, and soon would be well capable of handling things alone. In the end, what the valley needed was someone who could repair what was broken and create utensils that worked, no more. They were not so interested in fine crafts or jewelry, which was just as well, as he still was not able to create anything better than the standard objects. So he worked in the mornings, and in the afternoon had taken up the habit of teaching the younger elves some sword skills. All the last weeks in the valley he had tried to avoid those whom he knew from Eregion, but the longer he dwelled here, the harder it became. Some of the mothers of his young students had approached him with kind words and had thanked him for all he did for them. It had left him speechless and embarrassed, for he knew well that many who came to talk to him now had lost their husbands under his command at the fall of the city. It had touched him, how they seemed not to hold any grudge against him.  Often he even saw pity in their eyes, rather than the hatred that he had come to expect. It made him rethink his earlier feelings of guilt.

He had adapted his habits to the schedule of the meetings and in the evenings when they were done, he usually sparred with Glorfindel. Finally having found a worthy opponent, they both wanted to test their skills to the limit.  Glorfindel was fierce and light-footed, he would leap and lash out as a golden flame, while Elenluin always seemed at guard, moved as a wolf and parried every unexpected attack with a quick coolness, utterly effective in his counterstrikes. Their styles could not differ more, but still they were at odds and more often than not they ended their game because the sun was setting, without a clear victor.

It had been the day after midsummer, before they had first started their swordplay, when Glorfindel had expressed his sympathy on the losses he had suffered in few, well-meant words. Hesitating only a moment, the Golden Lord had then added quietly that he truly trusted that all griefs his wife and son had ever suffered would be healed in the halls of Mandos. Elenluin was not easily overwhelmed, but coming from this powerful, mysterious warrior, those sentences had relieved more of his pain than any other words of comfort had done before. They had not breached the subject anymore after, and even hardly talked in their time spent together, but the smith felt as if he might have found a new friend.

He was not invited to the councils and in any case did not wish to attend. Released from the responsibilities that he had carried during times of war, he felt as if he could not really contribute anything meaningful to the talks that would start now. He suspected that his brother would easily get his way assigning the valley to Elrond, whether the latter wanted it or not. He smiled, Ereinion always got his way.  Even Galadriel was no match for him, she knew very well that he had the people in the palm of his hand. Oh, they respected Galadriel, admired her beauty and they would fight for her if she was threatened, no doubt. But for Ereinion, they would die if he gave them a cause to fight for, as they had done for his father before him. He inspired them, led them forward, and they looked up to him.  No, he did not need to be at council, his brother was well capable of managing things himself, his support was not needed and he always knew what was discussed there anyway. 

Every evening Ereinion would stop by his rooms and give him a brief update on how negotiations were going. It seemed that the king of Lórinand would welcome Celeborn and Lady Galadriel willingly to reside in his realm, which would mean that they would have another pillar of strength at the other side of the Misty Mountains. Likewise King Oropher of Greenwood the great was reluctantly promising to keep at least a vow of friendship and mutual help between his realm and the High King in Lindon. Things were going well and it was just a matter of days until Ereinion would finally announce that Elrond would be proclaimed vice-Regent of Eriador, for that was the title they had thought of, to establish the peredhel’s position in the kingdom. All agreed that it would be a good thing, except Elrond himself, of course, who had protested that now war was over, he had wanted to start studying again instead of ruling a realm. Still, an old saying said that power was always wielded best by those that did not want it, Elenluin smiled at the thought, things were finally falling into place.  

There were other talks going on as well, alas, more secret ones that happened in Gil-Galad’s private rooms in the dark hours of night. Only the King, Cirdan and Galadriel were present on those occasions. Elenluin had no doubt on what was being talked, but he refused to inquire on the progress of that subject and up till now, Ereinion had respected his wish of not getting involved. Celeborn seemed to be of a like mind, spending the nights with Elrond, Glorfindel and the rest of them in the hall of fire, leaving the discussions to his wife alone.

For himself, he had as well started to make plans. Plans to return to Lindon and once again roam the lands for his King. The final course of action was yet to be talked, but an idea of what he could do had started to form in his head. He would not lead the fighting patrols anymore, those days had passed. In times of peace a different approach was needed. No, he would wander through Eriador, scouting, bringing messages, serving as Gil-Galad’s faithful eyes and ears in the world. That was what he would like to do, and that was where he could be useful. Through his trade connections from the Eregion times, he knew numerous people in many areas of Eriador and he was sure his relations would be valuable in stabilizing the country after the turbulent times that had passed.

And thus, as summer progressed, decisions were taken and proclaimed, and what was later called the first White council decided that Eregion would be abandoned and that Elrond indeed would become Gil-Galad’s vice-Regent officially, based in the lovely valley of Rivendell.

When the harvest festival was near, Galadriel and Celeborn travelled with their daughter over the mountains towards Lórinand, while Oropher had returned to Greenwood the great earlier that month. Ereinion Gil-Galad as well prepared his return to Lindon, for he had been absent there for too long already and there were many items to be resolved in aftermath of the war. Cirdan would accompany him, but Elenluin of Eregion did not return with them. There was another journey he wanted to complete first.  The King had requested him to carry a message towards the realm of the dwarves and had agreed that he could travel where he wished after, as long as he would come towards the city of Forlindon before the end of autumn.

So the smith quietly and privately took his leave from those that had stood with him for the last years and rode off along the Bruinen, out of the valley, alone. 


	23. Khazad-Dûm

Elenluin rode slowly along the river Sirannon. Any spectator would have thought that he was lazily strolling through the country on this hot summer’s day, but in reality he was sharply observing his surroundings. He had had an uneventful journey from the north here, passing close to the Hollin ridge and turning eastwards when he reached the stream, avoiding the ruins of Ost-in-Edhil for now. The lands were damaged, burnt and destroyed, but it seemed that no foul creatures had dared linger at this side of the mountains. Still he knew he was being watched as he now quickly approached his destination. Getting closer to Khazad-Dûm’s gate meant that the dwarfs would be watching each single step that he was taking. He did not hesitate though and rode straight for where he knew the entrance to be. Leading his horse ahead, he confidently started climbing the main road that wound around the Stair falls.  Durin’s folk might have closed their gates for the enemy, but he was sure where to find them, and trusted that he would not be unwelcome when seeking entrance. Too many of them he had helped in past times, too many he had considered his friends. Surely, even after the war, one or two would still remember.

 As he approached the west gate along the river, he held out his palms open before him, and loudly spoke to the hidden sentries in Sindarin. “A friend is approaching. I come with messages and requests from the High King Gil-Galad.” There was no movement, but he did not doubt that was a good sign, at least they were not attacking.  Leaving his horse bound to a tree, he walked further to where he knew the doors to be and was not surprised when two dwarves appeared out of nothing before him, just before he would speak the words to open them.

“Speak stranger, who dares approach here as if you know the way.” They held their axes crossed, barring the access to the doors.

He answered with a courteous bow, “Elenluin is my name, and once when these doors were ever open, I indeed did now the way. In Eregion I dwelled for a long time. Formerly I was called a master weapon smith, and those that traded with me will remember.”

The first of the dwarves standing before him frowned. “You can easily make that up, elf, how do I know this to be true.”

“If you do not trust me finding my way here, if you do not remember me from the past, take my sword and you will see that I speak the truth.”

The dwarves nodded, apparently at least not considering him a real threat. As he unsheathed his sword, and gave it to them to inspect hilt first, he knew he would be allowed to enter at some point. It might take a while to convince the guards, but he was sure that they would find one to vow for him, and the fact that they had accepted him to unsheathe his sword, meant that he had already won them over.  Their eyes grew large when they observed the hilt, donned with a night blue star-shaped sapphire, and the intricate designs that were wrought all over the grey-blue blade, inlaid with mithril stars.

The one that had talked before, now nodded, returning the weapon to him “If you made this, we believe you, Master Smith. And it seems like you know how to pass regardless of our consent. However, I would not advise you to enter alone, even if you know the way. These are treacherous times. We will send someone to our Lord Durin the Third. He will decide if he will meet you. Pray wait here, until I return.”

Elenluin bowed his head. “Durin the Third you say, it grieves me to know that his father is no longer amongst us. I will wait until you send for me. Tell your king that my message is for him alone. After, I would like to buy some mithril. I am sure Thalin or one of his sons is still around, and would be open to trade with me.”

The second sentry had kept silent up to that point, however now he spoke. “I do remember hearing your name a long time ago, master smith, but mithril is scarce now, and I would not count on the fact that Thalin’s son will trade with you.”

Elenluin did not change his expression “I will explain my need of it, and I do not doubt he will. Many things have happened since my last visit. But now, go to your king, and ask him if the messenger of the High King of the elves might enter.”

He put up his camp near the river at the gate, for he knew it could take days until the messengers reached the Dwarven King. The realm of Khazad-Dûm consisted of a vast amount of passages and there was no way knowing where he would be at this time of the year.

As it was, it seemed that he had been lucky. On the night of the second day, the sentry appeared again close to his fire. He brought the message that the smith could enter and that a guide was waiting behind the doors.

As the magnificent ports swung open under the starlight, he took a deep breath. He had entered this passage so many times in the past. For hundreds of years he had visited to buy his supplies of precious metals and later he had as well come to talk to some of his dwarven counterparts on metallurgy. A sword needed to be more than just resilient to blows, the way how it vibrated with a shock, how it balanced in one’s hand, there was so much more. He sighed, that had been before the war, before betrayal. Almost a hundred years had passed since he had last walked this road.

Still he remembered the paths, the halls as they progressed and he noticed that here too, darkness had entered somehow. There were only whispers where laughing would have been omnipresent and few dwarves moved hastily amongst the passages where they used to be filled with traders going in and out. The only thing that had remained was the continuous background noise of the pickaxes against rock and hammers hitting anvils.

They had walked for several hours before they reached one of the great halls of the West side and he remembered his past journeys even clearer. Here the ore market had been once, crystal lamps still shining brightly and illuminating the high black ceiling.

As he entered the hall, he knew he had reached his destination. Far ahead a sturdy dark haired dwarf was sitting at a large table, surrounded by a number of older longbeards. He did not hesitate, but bowed for the Naugrim lord, who was the spitting image of his father in earlier years.

“Hail Durin, Lord of the mighty Dwarrowdelf, greetings I bring you from my Lord the High King Gil-Galad.”

The dwarf rose from his chair, and bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Hail Elenluin of Eregion, messenger of the Elven King. When the gatekeeper bore me the message that an elf was requesting access to our halls, I had not expected to see one we once welcomed freely amongst our people. Greatly I was surprised when we heard a name I recognized from my father’s tales, for we thought all smiths had perished at the fall of the city. I had not expected Elenluin Battle Master to survive.”

Elenluin met Durin’s piercing gaze unmoved. “There are very few of the smiths left, and we who live have suffered more than we care to remember. Ost-in-Edhil was not the only battle that was fought since.”

Durin frowned and observed the man in front of him, then nodded. “Come, and give me your Lord’s message.”

Reaching in his tunic, Elenluin took out the sealed letter that he had brought from Gil-Galad. He had not wished to know what was in it, and only in the direst of needs would he have ever opened it to learn its content before destroying the parchment. As it was, he was glad he could just deliver it to the one for whom it was meant.

“Do you wish to wait for a reply? I understood you wanted to do some business as well here?”

“I do, my Lord. I would like to acquire some mithril and silver, small quantities. I as well want to say goodbye to some old friends and if allowed, I want to spend an hour in your forges.” Elenluin answered openly.

“It is allowed. Thunn here will guide you to Nar, Thalin’s son, whom I heard you knew once.”

His head bowed, Elenluin took his leave from the Dwarven king and followed Thunn further into the realm of Khazad-Dûm.

As he was guided through the passages, he saw some familiar faces here and there. Most of them had been children when he had last been here though, and of his old friends, none seemed to remain. Carefully he inquired with Thunn on their fate.

“Most of those you mentioned, perished when the old King made his sortie to drive the traitor back. They were eager to fight, for they claimed they could not leave their elven friends to be slaughtered. Us young ones, we did not understand I must admit, but now we heard that your King came with an army and drove the enemy back?” Thunn looked at him with curiosity.

“We did, with help of the men of the island.” As they rounded a corner, Elenluin suddenly looked upon a familiar face.

“Thalin! You are still alive!” The old grey bearded dwarf looked up from where he was sitting in front of his personal cave and saw the elf quickly approaching and kneeling next to him.

“Ah, Master Smith, I can say the same of you. We all thought you lost at the fall of the city. How can this be?”

Elenluin’s face clouded for a moment, before he answered. “That is a story of darkness, my old friend, and not one that I will burden you with. Be content to know I survived, and that we succeeded after all these years in driving the enemy back.”

“So what brought you here, how did you gain access? Durin is not inclined to open the gates to anyone now.”

“I brought a message of the High King Gil-Galad to him, Thalin, and came looking for you or your son to buy some mithril.”

The old dwarf nodded, “I thought that would be it. So you need some metal, what are you working on now?”

Elenluin remained silent for a moment, doubting whether to answer. When he spoke, he did so softly, his words only meant for the one in front of him. “I did not create anything since the city fell, my friend, and aside from what I will hopefully accomplish here today, I do not think I will anymore. I will soon leave this land, but before, I am heading for Ost-In-Edhil. Never will I live in fair Hollin again, but I need to travel there to look for my wife and son’s graves.”

Thalin did not speak, simply grasped Elenluin’s shoulders and pulled the much taller kneeling elf down in a tight embrace.

Minutes passed before he spoke again “Go in, Elenluin, and get your mithril and silver from my Nar, no need to worry about payments. Stay as long as you like and use my forge.”

The elf rose back to his feet and wiped away a tear from his face, strangely moved by the emotional response of an old dwarf. “Thank you,” he simply said, before entering the cave.

Nar proved to be a sensible young man, who provided him with the tools and materials he requested. It was strange to be here again. Elenluin admitted that he had learnt a lot from these dwarves, and shared his own knowledge in return, especially to this family that he had known from his first years in Eregion.  But unlike his fathers before him Thalin had been more than just a fellow craftsman, he had been a friend.

As he looked around, he was glad to discover that though the second anvil and tools had been shoved into a corner, the forge still had the dual set up of the early days, one side customized for dwarfs, the other for the elves.  

He started working in the hot forge and thoughtlessly removed his tunic, as had been his habit when he was working here in times past. It was only when he saw Thalin standing in the doorway, leaning on a stick and watching him with pity in his eyes that he realised that the dwarf had seen the thick scars on his back.

“Elenluin Battle Master, what in Mahal’s name happened to you?”

He cringed upon hearing that name the second time this day. Long, long ago, in the early Second age, the dwarves had started calling him so when they had learned of his past in the War of Wrath. He doubted if anyone still remembered that though and knew that his role in the defense of the city had given the ancient epithet a new meaning.

If any other had asked him that question, in any other way, the smith would have turned away and refused to answer. But the dwarf lacked the sensitivity of the elves and his blunt honest interest somehow pierced the wall that Elenluin had built around his memories. He laid down his hammer as he answered. “Yrch, Thalin, Yrch happened to me.”

“So it is true what they say, that you were there with Celebrimbor on the walls when the city fell? That you two fought together? They say the enemy captured him and tortured him to death.” Elenluin felt how Thalin watched him attentively, waiting for a response. There was a hidden question behind that statement, a question on his loyalty, one that he could not leave unanswered.

“I have heard it as well, master dwarf. I do not know what happened, for I was felled before him, and carried off to a dark cave. I will spare you the nightmare I lived there, until by chance a contingent of Gil-Galad’s troops passed by and freed me. By the time I woke up, I was far from here, the city was lost… and they told me my family lived no more.” He silently turned back to his work and did not look at how Thalin responded to his words. It wasn’t a very complicated thing he wanted to do. After cooling down the shapes he had wrought out of the metal, he started engraving. It pained him again that he could not get to the perfection he was looking for, something he had been so proud of once seemed now beyond his reach. He did not know how long had passed before he finished, but it could not have been more than an hour. When he picked up his work and turned around, he found Thalin still standing in the same place, watching. 

“I will not ask what happened in that cave, Elenluin. I will not ask, but I can guess, I can _see_. I see whips and burnt flesh and broken bones. I see questions unanswered and pain beyond measure. No, I will not ask, but I will pray for you to Mahal the Mighty that you will find peace someday. For in all those years, I have never seen you work like this, so mechanically, so utterly devoid of emotions. I did not want to believe you, when you said earlier that you would not create again, but now I will.” After those words he moved leaning on his stick to a drawer in a bench nearby. He rummaged through its contents until he found what he sought. Holding out his hand to the elf, he offered him something. “here, take it.”

“I cannot accept this Thalin. Keep it for your son.”

“I will not,” the dwarf replied, “I will not give it to him for it is you who need it. Take the locket Elenluin, take it with you and fill it with memories. And when you have gone off to your far away land by the sea again, think of us when you look at it.”

Elenluin stared at the small locket that was now lying in the palm of his hand. It was a relatively roughly crafted one, though many of mankind would still find it exquisite he knew. Silver and mithril, with the emblem of Durin’s folk engraved on the front. But he did not see its flaws, he only saw beauty and friendship, for it had been the first thing Thalin ever had created under his guidance in this same forge, nearly two hundred thirty years ago. “Thank you, mellon-nîn.”

Before he departed, he embraced the old dwarf and said his goodbyes.  He took the locket with him, as well as the two silver stars that he had been forging.  But he left behind something on a corner of the work bench. A small star shaped blue brooch that he used to wear on his mantle, the symbol of his name, in payment of a debt that went far beyond some silver and mithril.

And as he met Thunn again to go to Durin King, answering his summons, he could not stop thinking of what Thalin had said. It was true. What he lacked in his work was the courage to surrender himself to his emotions, to step into the intuitive flow of creating, lowering his barriers, shutting down his rational mind. He was not ready for that, not yet.

He approached Durin and took the message to bring back to Gil-Galad. As he bowed, he looked the other in the eyes. The dwarf stared back with a dark look.

“The road will be closed now, master elf. Tell your King that we will keep what we have, and we will keep it safe. No longer will I allow traffic out of these mines to the West, nor do I want our people to get involved in the wars of the elves. The doors are closed, and closed they will stay, until time proves that things have changed.”

Elenluin’s eyes smoldered with anger when he heard those words, but he kept quiet. It was not the time, nor the place to point this youngster, this king of dwarves to what the elves had sacrificed to keep all of Middle Earth safe, not only themselves.

He walked the paths out, this time unaccompanied. The dwarves knew he would not stray from the road. When he stepped into the light again, he saw the sun was setting. And as the doors of Khazad-Dûm closed behind him, he knew chances were slim that he would ever visit again and that if he ever did, there would be none left that remembered him.

 

 


	24. Ost-in-Edhil

He woke up, breathing heavily. He bit his lip, muting the scream before it could leave his throat. He focused his eyes and realised he saw stars above him. He had fallen asleep. Again. In these last weeks on the road, he had no longer succeeded in staying awake as he had done for such a long time before. As of the moment he dared lay himself down, the nightmares would start. But as they repeated themselves time after time, he felt as if they had lost some of their earlier sharpness. Here, out in the open and alone under the ever-comforting stars, he was starting to cope with them somehow.  Deep down he knew he had to learn to accept what they showed him. He might not want to remember the images but they had been real none the less and would never disappear, forever a part of whom he was, whom he had become.

Looking at the sky, he knew dawn was not far off and decided to ride further instead of trying to rest longer. He had been scared of this day for a long time now, and it was time to go ahead, before he would become so frightened that he turned back.

He saw the sun rising over the Glanduin river, and his heart cringed as he caught sight of the grey ruins ahead. Ost-in-Edhil.

Spurring his horse to move faster he rode further, trying to keep his breathing even, to take in what he saw in front of him. If he had thought that the lands that he had travelled up till here had been ruined, he knew now that it was nothing compared to what had happened to the city.

He was very glad he had declined various offers of people to come here with him. He needed to do this alone. The only one who had really understood was Cirdan, whom with a soft look in his eyes had whispered to him, before saying goodbye “Go there, little one, go alone and find your peace. Allow yourself to be sad.”

And now he was here. He rode around the city with a wide arch until he reached the West gate. Entering proved difficult, there were blocks of masonry everywhere and he had to dismount and lead his horse through. Still he did not even consider entering via any other way. 

He was tracing back the steps of that fateful night, the night the city fell.

A flash of memory hit him as he looked around. How he had walked the dark streets, coming here to lead the defense of this gate. How he had stood high on the fortifications, his men around him, waiting for the enemy to attack.  The despair in their eyes, as they all realised that their supplies of arrows would never be sufficient to keep the enemy at bay. The dizziness resulting from lack of food after years under siege. He had tried to keep them focused on the battle ahead, telling them over and over again that there was no other way than to fight till the end. Emphasizing, convincing them that some might survive, not even one moment thinking that he himself would.

His gate had been the first to fall, despite all his efforts. The weakest point in their fortifications, the wall that had suffered most attacks in months and years before. He knew why he had positioned himself here as leader of the defenses, but it had been to no avail. Elenluin Battle Master the dwarves called him, but this fight he had not been able to win.  He thought about those that had fought with him, of whom not one was alive anymore now.

He closed his eyes for a moment, standing on the rubble. Felt and smelled the fear again. Oh yes, he had been afraid. As much as he was now. He let the memories wash over him, this time he would not push the feelings of fright, grief and loss away. Instead he welcomed them, leaning his head against his horse’s warm neck. Truly, courage was needed today more than ever.

He got a grip on himself again and slowly walked further down the street on familiar cobblestones. The city had been full of light and life once. Almost every house had had a garden, and public green areas and fountains had been scattered throughout the town.  Those who had lived here appreciated beauty. Many of them would be fascinated by the reflection of light on a simple leaf of a tree, or by the different shades of blue found in the water of the river, and often would try to capture what they found in nature in their metal and gems. Now the fountains had dried, and where the parks had been, wild plants had overgrown all paths. The scent of a jasmine bush close by was almost making him sick, once it had been his favourite, now he could not bear the strong smell anymore.

He had continued for a few minutes only, when he hesitated again, overwhelmed by memories. Before him the remainder of the great hall of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain was visible. It was there that their desperate retreat had led them, after the initial fall of the Western gate. He had ran to the hall with what was left of his company, while orcs were flooding the city. It was there that he had found Celebrimbor again, coming from the North. There had been no time to think, no time even to consider what was happening at the South side near the river, where he lived. Some had prayed to the Valar while they were retreating. He had not. After the War of Wrath and the destruction brought to Beleriand, he was not sure if he ever wanted their help again. They had kept their ground as long as they could, defending the hall, falling, one after the other, until only a few were left. They were fighting back to back, underneath the Feanorian banner that they had accepted as their own.

That night his fight had ended, and nightmare had begun, close to Celebrimbor’s standard.

He took a shuddering breath, blinking against the sunlight. He had not realised he had closed his eyes. It almost surprised him that there was light out here, instead of the darkness that he felt within. He stepped away from the palace and continued on his meandering path.  Soon, he finally faced his destination. For anyone not as familiar as he, it would have been unrecognizable. His house. He looked around and noticed that none of the walls had remained intact. All had been utterly destroyed, their remnants no more than waist high.  He left his horse behind as he entered.

His mind started to jump irrationally from one observation to the next. His hands felt the stones of what once had been his living room, where he had said his last goodbyes. They were hard and cold under his touch, for it was still early and the summer sun had not had the chance to heat them up yet. His ears heard again how he had asked his son to defend his mother. If only he would have been able to convince them to leave the city while they still could. But he had not. And they had stayed, until the last day.  Then he suddenly thought that it was somehow strange to see how after four years of the sun, nature already started to reclaim some of the stonework. Ivy and Morning glory were growing through, covering the grey masonry with green leaves and white flowers. Plucking one of them, he stared at the small delicate shape in his hand. White, as her dress. It had been this season when he had wed her. A hot summer day, very few friends invited and the only one who had really mattered not there. Ereinion had sent Elrond, but he had not wanted Elrond. He had wanted his brother, and no other. So he had courteously received the King’s emissary and kept him out the actual ceremony. In the end they had sent everyone away. She had understood how hard it would have been to see her family standing with her while he had none left. They had wed with only Celebrimbor present to witness their bond. That day, she had been lovely, and he had been happy.  

As he stepped over what would have been the back wall, he saw the scorched holly tree that once had been the pride of his garden. He approached and noticed that next to the old tree, a young sapling had sprouted, it would take long years until it would become as big as its forefather, but given time, it would. He saw as well that a bird had made a nest in the dead branches of the burnt tree and again could not avoid a thought arising on how unfair it was that nature was oblivious to the tragedies that had happened here.

He took the two silver stars he had created out of his bag and laid them down on the ground. Silently he stared at them, knowing he had reached his destination. Elrond had been painfully accurate in his description.

He did not weep, he had shed his tears a long time ago, but he let memories wash over him as he stared at the tree.

How long he sat there, he could not say. With his sleeve, he polished the largest star, and read once more what he had engraved, next to a simplified drawing of two intertwined trees ‘Elianna, Elenion Ancalima, Melmenya’(1).  The small one showed the image of a rising wave reflecting mithril starlight underneath the words ‘Eäraumo, Húro, Funda, Anarya’ (2).

He pressed both slightly deeper into the earth and left them there, unfastened, no monument to attach them to, no tree big enough to remember. If they were taken by others, if they were lost, so be it, if they were battered and weathered through fire and rain, so be it. He would not return here to see it.

Before he rose, he opened his hand and picked a berry and a leaf of the young holly tree. It was all he would take. He stood up and looked at the river glittering in the sunlight. Around the burnt walls, he lead his horse over the uneven paths until he reached the Glanduin, there he mounted again. 

Without even shooting a glance behind him, he spurred his black stallion forward. When darkness fell, he wanted to be far from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)Elianna (Q: the prosperous), Brightest of stars, My Love.  
> (2) Eäraumo (Q: seastorm), Storm, Thunder, My Sun.


	25. Starlight

He stopped riding only when the darkness fell. It was still very warm, hardly cooler than during the day, and far away he could hear the thunder roaring. He dismounted near a bush of trees that grew next to the river and let his sweated horse roam free, to find food and drink.

Slowly he walked towards the stream to get some water for himself.  At the edge of the river, he paused a moment, staring at his trembling hands. However much he willed it, his fingers did not want to keep still. Clinging to the cup he held, he sank to his knees to scoop out some water. As he saw his own reflection, hollow-eyed, white face and a frightened look in his dark eyes, involuntarily a hoarse cry escaped his throat. And somehow he could not hold back the tears anymore, the events of the day finally overcoming him. There, alone by the river, he howled and shouted in the empty night, overwhelmed by anger and grief. Long he wept, oblivious to his surroundings, oblivious to time, nothing visible anymore through the cloud that shrouded his mind. Images flashing before him, of his son, of his wife, of the horror experienced in a foul orc cave.  After what might have been hours, rain softly started to fall, the remains of the earlier thunderstorm. As the water poured down, his desperate sobs turned into a haunting wordless lament. A song of loss, of pain, of hopelessness until he finally was too exhausted to continue and laid himself down, there by the river under the falling rain.  

The sun woke him in the morning, its rays bringing back the warmth to his cold arms and legs. As he opened his eyes and lifted himself up, he saw that his horse had approached again. He rose and quickly bathed in the river to remove the mud and soil that had stuck to his hair and clothes when he had fallen asleep on the river bank. Coming out of the water, he realised how sore his muscles were, how tired he was, now that the tension of weeks of anticipation was gone. Nonetheless, with the dirt, some of the darkness seemed to have disappeared. He realised now how lucky he had been that no enemy had come upon him the day before, for he knew with certainty that he would not have noticed any who came near, let alone been able to defend himself.

He took a few breaths before he mounted again, knowing that he would not easily forget what the night had thought him. The illusion of self-control had proven to be only that, an illusion. For the first time in many long years, he had been confronted with how he really felt, with how deep all of this had really scarred him. Now he started to realise how much he still missed the quiet comfort of having a place to go to in the evening, the certainty of someone waiting for you to come home. The silly questions his son used to ask him, the intense discussions they would have on his future, how he had held him when he was newborn, how he had taught him how to walk, how together with Elianna he had watched him grow and learn and become a young man full of promise. He remembered the satisfaction he got out of his work, out of creating and crafting. But if he was honest, he understood now as well that in those times, he had missed the intelligent conversations with his brother, the gratifying feeling of making a strategic plan work, the idea of being in the center of things, knowing all the details, the complex web of different influences and decisions. If he had not missed that, he would not have gotten so deeply involved in the defenses of Ost-in-Edhil.  He would just have been one of the many smiths, some kind of an outsider even, with his lack of interest in pure jewelry, and he might have left before it was too late.

Now his route was taking him back to the sea, back to his brother.  He was in no hurry, had still plenty of time to cover the eight hundred miles that separated him from Forlindon. Spurring his horse to move, he left the river to go to the main road.

As he progressed, he found work in some of the small towns he passed. They all could use a pair of extra hands to get the harvest in, or a smith to repair some tools. He earned his food with his labor during the day and in the darkness rode alone under the stars along the North road, closer and closer to his destination. Continuing his path, he grieved, now truly, with many a night spent in tears, though never as intense as that first evening.  As he rode on, his thoughts meandered from dark regret towards joyful memories and back, and strange as it seemed, it felt right.

 

Gil-Galad was alone in his rooms, reading the latest reports of one of his stewards. It was late, but he needed to go through before tomorrow’s meeting. All the last month they had been collecting data on what the harvest was like in each part of the country. Reports on how many tons of corn, barley, wheat, how much beets and potatoes were harvested came in on a daily base. They were now of higher importance than any of their remaining enemies’ movements. Winter was approaching, and he was concerned on how to make sure the people survived. They had been fortunate to secure their victory still before midsummer, so some fields had been worked, especially in the west. However, those who lived in the east of the country, where all lands had been torched and hardly any farms had survived, would meet a hard winter. It was his duty to try and redistribute, to make sure none of his people were starving, but it was going to be a tough task.

A knock at the door startled him. It was now far beyond midnight and the stars were shining brightly under the autumn sky. As his personal servant entered, he raised an eyebrow, questioning without words what was worth disturbing him this late.

The man quickly assessed his King’s irritation and blurted out in rapid words “My lord, I am sorry to interrupt you so late in the evening, but the Lord Elenluin has arrived and insisted that you were notified. He sends word that he will be in his chambers in half an hour, and that he leaves it up to you to see if you would like to go there or to meet in the morning in the formal audiences.”

Gil-Galad’s worried face split in a wide grin, “thank you, that is good news you bring! I am in no further need of you tonight, you can go now.”

He rose before long and left his rooms, ignoring the watcher’s surprised glances when he opened his doors. Striding quickly along the hall, it did not take him very long to reach his brother’s quarters. He knocked but did not bother to wait for an answer, and just stormed in.

As he entered he saw Elenluin sitting in his sofa, resting his elbows on his knees while he intently looked at something he was holding, and as the appearance of the man was so solemn, his heart skipped a beat for a moment, fearing to find a knife once again in his brother’s hands. However, as he stepped nearer, he saw it was no such thing he was holding, it seemed a small silver object, in which he was putting a dried green leaf and a green berry.

“Elenluin, you are back.” He did not know what to add, how to approach the man in front of him. Something seemed to have changed.  As Elenluin looked up, closing the locket he was holding with a snap, Gil-Galad startled at the gaunt face that stared at him. What surprised him most though, was the sad but calm look in those dark eyes. For ages past, he had seen there only shields, keeping everyone out, reflecting the starlight. Now, in this moment, he knew that they had finally come down. And hope dawned in his heart for suddenly the future looked brighter than before. With a smile on his face, he opened his arms as he spoke softly, "Welcome home, brother."


End file.
